Emperor: The Death of Kings E#2 (4 page)

Gaditicus sighed to himself. Good men lost just to smoke out a few young hotheads trying to live the stories their grandfathers told. He could imagine the speeches they had made, whereas the truth was that Rome brought them civilization and a glimpse of what man could achieve. All the rebels fought for was the right to live in mud huts and scratch their arses, did they but know it. He didn’t expect them to be grateful, he had lived too long and seen too much for that, but he demanded their respect, and the ill-planned mess at the fort had shown precious little of that. Eighty-nine enemy bodies had been burned at dawn. The Roman dead were carried back to the ship for burial at sea.

It was with such angry thoughts buzzing around in his head that he marched into the town of Mytilene in his best armor, with the rest of his depleted century shining behind him. Rain threatened in the form of dark, heavy clouds, and the stiflingly hot air matched his mood perfectly.

Julius marched stiffly after the battering he had taken the night before. It amazed him how many small cuts and scrapes he had picked up without noticing. His chest was purple all down the left side, and a shiny yellow lump stood out on one of his ribs. He would have Cabera look at it back on
Accipiter,
but he didn’t think it was broken.

He disagreed with Gaditicus over the need for the march. The centurion was happy to break a rebellion and vanish, leaving someone else to handle the politics, but it was important to remind the town that the governor, above all else, was not to be touched.

He glanced over at Paulus, taking in the heavily bandaged hands and the still-swollen face. Julius admired that he had refused to be carried in a litter, determined to show himself unbeaten after his torture. Fair enough that the man wanted to come back to town at the head of a small army. There were men like him all over Roman lands. They had little support from the Senate and were like small kings who nonetheless depended on the goodwill of the locals to make things happen as they wanted. When that goodwill failed, Julius knew, a thousand small things could make life very difficult. No wood or food delivered except at sword-point, roads damaged, small fires set. Nothing to turn out the guards for, but constant irritations, like burrs caught in the skin.

From what the governor said of the life, Paulus seemed to enjoy the challenges. Julius had been surprised to note that his main feeling was not anger at his ordeal, but sadness that people he had trusted had turned against him. Julius wondered if he would be so trusting in the future.

The legionaries marched through the town, ignoring the stares and sudden movement as mothers cleared playing children from their path. Most of the Romans were feeling the aches of the night before and were pleased to reach the governor’s home in the center. They formed a square in front of the building, and Julius saw one of the benefits of the post Paulus held, in the beauty of the white walls and ornamental pools. It was a piece of Rome, transplanted into the Greek countryside.

Paulus laughed aloud as his children came running to greet him. He went down on one knee, letting them embrace him while he kept his broken hands clear. His wife too came out to see him, and Julius could see tears in her eyes, even from the second rank. A lucky man.

“Tesserarius Caesar, stand forward,” Gaditicus ordered, startling Julius out of his thoughts. Julius moved quickly and saluted. Gaditicus looked him over, his expression unreadable.

Paulus disappeared into his home with his family, and all the ranks waited patiently for him, happy enough to stand in the warmth of the afternoon sunshine with no jobs to be done.

Julius’s mind churned, wondering why he had been ordered to stand out alone and how Suetonius would feel if it was a promotion. The governor was not able to order Gaditicus to give him a new post, but his recommendation was unlikely to be ignored.

At last Paulus returned, his wife walking out with him. He filled his lungs to address all the men together, and his voice was warm and strong.

“You have restored me to my position and my family. Rome thanks you for your service. Centurion Gaditicus has agreed that you may take a meal here. My servants are preparing my best food and drink for you all.” He paused and his gaze fell on Julius.

“I witnessed great bravery last night, from one man in particular who risked his own life to save mine. To him, I award the honor wreath, to mark his courage. Rome has brave sons and I stand here today to prove it.”

His wife stepped forward and lifted a circlet of green oak leaves. Julius unfroze and, when Gaditicus nodded at him, removed his helmet to accept it. He blushed and suddenly the men cheered, though whether it was at the honor to one of their own or the food to come, he wasn’t sure.

“Thank you, I-I . . .” he stammered.

Paulus’s wife put her hand on his own and Julius could see where face paint covered dark circles of worry under her eyes.

“You brought him back to me.”

Gaditicus barked out the orders to remove helmets and follow the governor to where his staff were setting up the meal. He held Julius back for a moment, and when it was quiet, he asked to see the circlet. Julius handed it to him quickly, trying not to shout out loud with the excitement he felt.

Gaditicus turned the band of dark leaves over in his hands. “Do you deserve it?” he asked quietly.

Julius hesitated. He knew he had risked his life and rushed two men on his own down in the lowest room of the fort, but it was a prize he had not expected.

“Not more than a lot of the men, sir,” he replied.

Gaditicus looked closely at him, then nodded, satisfied. “That’s a good line, though I will say I was pleased to see you when you flanked the bastards last night.” He grinned at Julius’s rapidly changing expressions, from delight to embarrassment.

“Will you wear it under your helmet, or perched on top?”

Julius felt flustered. “I . . . I hadn’t thought. I suppose I will leave it on the ship if there’s action.”

“Are you sure, now? Pirates will run scared of a man with leaves on his head, perhaps?”

Julius flushed again and Gaditicus laughed, clapping him on the shoulder.

“I’m only teasing you, lad. It is a rare honor. I’ll have to promote you, of course. I can’t have a lowly watch officer with an honor wreath. I will give you a twenty to command.”

“Thank you, sir,” Julius replied, his spirits lifting even further.

Gaditicus rubbed the leaves between his fingers thoughtfully. “You will have to wear this in the city sometime. It will be expected of you, at least once.”

“Why, sir? I don’t know the ritual.”

“It’s what I would do, anyway. The laws of Rome, lad. If you walk into a public event with an honor wreath, everyone must stand.
Every
one, even the Senate.”

The centurion chuckled to himself. “What a sight that would be. Come in when you’re settled. I’ll make sure they keep some wine for you. It looks like you could do with a drink.”

  CHAPTER
3
  

I
n the gray evening light, Brutus scrambled down the side of the building, tearing most of the climbing roses with him. His foot caught in a loop of thorns at the bottom, and he fell flat, his sword skidding over the cobbles with a clatter. Wincing, he freed himself before struggling to his feet. He could hear another roar of anger above his head as Livia’s father approached the window and glared down at the intruder. Brutus looked up at him as he tugged at his
bracae,
yelping as the cloth snagged on a thorn deep in his thigh.

Livia’s father was a bull-like man who carried a heavy axe like a hatchet and was obviously considering whether he could hit Brutus with a good throw.

“I’ll find you, whelp!” the man bellowed down at him, practically frothing through his beard in rage.

Brutus backed away out of range and tried to pick up his fallen gladius without taking his eyes off the red-faced Greek. He hitched up his bracae with one hand and found the hilt with the other, wishing he had kept his sandals on for the athletic tumbling about with Livia. If her father was trying to protect her innocence, he was about three years too late, Brutus thought. He considered sharing the information with the man out of spite, but she’d played fair by the young Roman, though she really should have checked the house before dragging him into her room as he passed. As she’d been naked, it had seemed only politeness for him to remove his sandals before they collapsed on the bed, though that courtesy would make escape through the sleepy town something of a problem.

No doubt Renius was still snoring in the room for which Brutus had paid. After five days sleeping in the open, both men had been happy enough to break the journey with a chance for a hot bath and a shave, but it looked as if only Renius would be enjoying those comforts while Brutus went for the hills.

Brutus shifted from one foot to the other uncomfortably as he considered his choices. He cursed Renius under his breath, partly for sleeping during a crisis, but mainly for convincing him that a horse would eat through their savings by the time they reached the coast and found a berth for Rome. Renius had said that a legionary could march the distance without any trouble, but even a thin pony would have been handy for a quick escape.

The angry beard vanished above, and while Brutus hesitated, Livia appeared at the window, her skin still flushed from their activities. It was a good healthy glow, Brutus noted idly, appreciating the way she rested her breasts on the sill.

“Get away!” she called in a harsh whisper. “He’s coming down after you!”

“Throw my sandals down, then. I can’t run like this,” he hissed back. After a moment, the articles came flying at him and he laced them in a frenzy, already able to hear the clump of her father’s tread as he came to the door.

Brutus heard the man’s pleased exclamation to find him still in the yard. Without looking back, he sprinted away, skidding as the iron studs of his soles met the cobbles. Behind, Livia’s father shouted for the town to stop him, which seemed to cause a stir of excitement in the locals about their business. Brutus groaned as he ran. Already there were answering yells and he could hear a number of others had joined the pursuit.

Feverishly, he tried to remember the streets he’d wandered through only hours before, thankful to find anything with cheap rooms and hot food. Livia’s father had seemed pleasant enough then, though he hadn’t been carrying the axe when he showed the tired men to his cheapest room.

Brutus thumped into a wall as he turned a corner at full speed, dodging round a cart and knocking away the grasping hands of its owner. Which way to get out? The town seemed like a labyrinth. He took roads to the left and right without daring to look back, his breath rasping in his throat. So far, Livia had been worth his trouble, but if he was killed, she wasn’t his choice for the last woman in his life. He hoped the father would take his anger out on Renius and wished them both luck.

The alleyway he ran down came to a dead end around a corner. A cat scrambled from him as he halted against the nearest stone wall and prepared to risk a glance back. There was nowhere to run, but perhaps he’d lost them for the moment. He strained his ears before inching toward the edge, hearing nothing more threatening than the cat’s complaints disappearing into the distance.

He eased one eye around the wall and pulled back at once. The alley seemed filled with men, all heading his way. Brutus dropped down into a crouch and risked a second glance at them, hoping he wouldn’t be seen so low down.

A voice called out in recognition and Brutus groaned again as he pulled back. He’d picked up a little Greek in his time with the Bronze Fist, but hardly enough to talk his way out of the situation.

He made his decision and stood, firming his grip on the sword hilt, his other hand falling to the scabbard where he could fling it away. It was a fine blade that he’d won in a legion tournament, and he would have to show the farmers that he’d earned it. He hitched up his bracae one more time and took a deep breath before stepping out into the alley to face them.

There were five of them, their faces filled with the enthusiasm of children as they rushed down the alley. Brutus pulled away the scabbard with a flourish, in case they were in any doubt about his intentions. With great solemnity, he lowered the point at the men, and they pulled up as one. The moment held and Brutus thought furiously. Livia’s father had yet to appear and there could be a chance to win free of the younger men before he arrived to encourage them. They might be open to persuasion and even bribery.

The largest of them stepped forward, careful to remain outside the range of the unwavering sword in Brutus’s hands.

“Livia is my wife,” the man said in clear Latin.

Brutus blinked at him. “Does she know?” he asked.

The man’s face colored in anger and he produced a dagger from his belt. The others followed his example, revealing clubs and blades that they waved at Brutus while beckoning him forward to meet them.

Before they could rush him, Brutus spoke quickly, trying to sound calm and unruffled by the threat.

“I could kill every one of you, but all I want is to be allowed to go on my way in peace. I’m a legion champion with this pretty blade, and not one of you will leave this alley alive if you make the wrong decision.”

Four of them listened with blank faces until Livia’s husband translated the speech. Brutus waited patiently, hoping for a favorable response. Instead, they chuckled and began to edge closer to him. Brutus took a step back.

“Livia is a healthy girl with normal appetites,” he said. “She seduced me, not the other way around. There is nothing worth killing for in this.”

He waited with the others for the translation to begin, but the husband remained silent. Then the man said something in Greek, which Brutus barely followed. Part of it was certainly to try to keep him alive, which he approved, but the last part involved him being “given to the women,” which sounded distinctly unpleasant.

Livia’s husband leered at Brutus. “Catching a criminal means a festival for us. You will be the middle . . . the heart of it?”

As Brutus began to frame a reply, they rushed him with a flurry of blows, and though he pricked one of them with his gladius, a whistling club connected behind his ear and knocked him unconscious.

*      *      *

He woke to a slow creaking and a feeling of dizziness. For a moment, he kept his eyes closed, trying to sense his whereabouts without letting unseen watchers know he was alert. There was a breeze playing about a fair portion of his body, and he had a sudden suspicion that his clothes had been removed. There could be no reasonable explanation for this, and his eyes snapped open despite his intentions.

He was hanging upside down, suspended by the feet from a wooden scaffold in the center of the town. A surreptitious glance upward confirmed the fact that he was naked. Everything hurt, and for a moment a memory of being hung from a tree when he was a boy came back to make him shudder.

It was dark and somewhere nearby he could hear sounds of revelry. He swallowed painfully at the thought of being part of some pagan ritual and strained at the ropes that held him. Blood pounded in his head with the effort, but there was no give in the knots.

His movement made him spin in a slow circle, and he was able to see the whole of the square at intervals. Every house was lit in a show of life far greater than the dull little place he had imagined on arrival. No doubt they were all boiling pig heads and blowing the dust off homemade wines, he thought dismally.

For a moment, he despaired. His armor was back in the room with Renius, and his sword had vanished. He had no sandals and his savings would no doubt fund the very celebration that would be the end of him. Even if he could escape, he was naked and penniless in a strange land. He cursed Renius with some enthusiasm.

“After a refreshing sleep, I have a good stretch and look out the window,” Renius said by his ear. Brutus had to wait for a moment until he swung round to face him.

The old gladiator was shaved and clean and clearly enjoying himself.

“‘Surely,’ I say to myself. ‘Surely that figure hanging by his feet can’t be the same popular young soldier I came in with?’ ”

“Look, I’m sure you’ll tell a very amusing story to your cronies, but I’d appreciate it if you’d stop rehearsing it and just cut me down before someone stops you.”

The creaking ropes carried Brutus away again. Without a word of warning, Renius sliced the ropes and spilled Brutus onto the ground. Shouts sounded around them and Brutus struggled to rise, pulling himself upright against the scaffold.

“My legs won’t take my weight!” he said, trying to rub at each one in turn with desperate energy. Renius sniffed, looking around.

“They’d better. With one arm, I can hardly carry you and keep them off at the same time. Keep rubbing. We may have to bluff it through.”

“If we had a horse, you could tie me to the saddle,” Brutus retorted, rubbing furiously. Renius shrugged.

“No time for that. Your armor’s in this bag. They brought your kit back to the rooming house, and I swiped it on my way out. Take your sword and brace yourself against the scaffold. Here they come.” He passed over the blade, and for all his nude helplessness, Brutus felt a little comfort from the familiar hilt.

The crowd gathered quickly, Livia’s father at the head, carrying his axe in both hands. He tensed enormously powerful shoulders and jerked the blades in Renius’s direction.

“You came in with the one who attacked my daughter. I’ll give you one chance to gather your things and move on. He stays here.”

Renius stood still for a moment, then took a sharp pace forward, sinking his gladius into the man’s chest so that it stood out behind him. He pulled it out and the man fell facedown on the cobbles, the axe head clattering noisily.

“Who else says he stays here?” Renius said, looking around the crowd. They had frozen at the sudden killing and there was no response. Renius nodded sternly at them, speaking slowly and clearly.

“No one was attacked. From the noises I heard, the girl was as enthusiastic as my idiot friend.” Renius ignored Brutus’s sharp intake of breath at his back, keeping his sweeping gaze locked on the crowd. They barely heard him. The gladiator had killed without a thought and that held the people still.

“Are you ready to go?” Renius murmured.

Brutus tested his legs gingerly, wincing at the fire of returning circulation. He began to pull his garments on as quickly as possible, the armor clanking loudly as he searched the bag with one hand.

“As soon as I’m dressed.”

He knew the crowd’s stupor couldn’t last, but still jumped as Livia came shoving through the people, her voice shrill.

“What are you doing standing there?” she screamed at the crowd. “Look at my father! Who will kill his murderers?”

Behind her back, Brutus rose, his sword ready. The sweet smile he remembered from the afternoon had twisted into hatred as she screamed abuse at her own people. None of them met her eyes, their desire for vengeance cooled by the sprawled figure at her feet.

At the edge of the crowd, her husband turned his back on her and stalked away into the darkness. As she saw who it was, Livia turned on Renius, raining blows on his face and body. His only arm held the sword and as Brutus saw the muscles tense, he reached forward and pulled her away.

“Go home,” he snapped at her. Instead, her hands reached for his eyes and Brutus shoved her roughly. She fell to the ground near her father’s body and clung to it, weeping.

Renius and Brutus looked at each other and the thinning crowd.

“Leave her,” Renius said.

Together, the two men crossed the square and made their way in silence through the town. It seemed hours before they reached the edge of the houses and looked out on a valley leading down to a river in the distance.

“We should push on. By dawn they’ll be swearing blood feud and coming after us,” Renius said, finally sheathing his sword.

“Did you really hear . . . ?” Brutus asked, looking away.

“You woke me up with your grunting, yes,” Renius replied. “Your quick tumble could still kill us if they send out decent trackers. In her father’s house!”

Brutus scowled at his companion. “You killed him, don’t forget,” he muttered.

“And you’d still be there if I hadn’t. Now march. We need to cover as much ground as possible before daylight. And the next time a pretty girl looks twice at you, start running. They’re more trouble than they’re worth.”

Silently disagreeing, the two men set off down the hill.