Emperor: the field of swords E#3 (11 page)

    They were a different breed to the visitors Clodia invited, especially the old woman with diamonds at her throat. Julia had seen her father kiss her when he thought no one could see, and Julia had felt her throat tighten with dislike. She had tried to tell herself it was just a friendship, but there had been something intimate in the way the woman relaxed against him, and Julia’s cheeks had become hot with embarrassment. Whoever she was, she vowed they would never be friends.

    She whiled away a little time imagining the woman trying to win her affection. She would be very cool toward her, Julia thought. Not rude; Clodia had taught her to despise rudeness. Just enough to make the woman feel unwelcome.

    A heavy cloak hung on a peg by the gelding’s stall, and Julia recognized it as the one that had draped the last pair. She remembered the man’s laughter as it carried over the fields. He was very handsome, she thought. Shorter than her father, he walked like the man Clodia had employed to teach her to ride, as if he had so much energy that he could only barely stop himself from dancing with the pleasure of it.

    Julia thought his companion must love him, from the way she had draped herself against his back. They always seemed to be touching, almost by accident.

    She stayed in the stables for a long time, trying to get to the root of what felt different since her father had arrived. She always came there when there was a problem or when she had upset Clodia. Amongst the smell of leather and straw, in the shadows, she had always felt safe. The main house had so many empty rooms that were cold and dark at night. When she crept through them to climb the wall under the moonlight, she could imagine her mother walking there and shiver. It was too easy to think of the men who had killed her, padding up behind until Julia would spin in terror and back away from phantoms she could never see.

    A burst of laughter carried to her from the house, and she raised her head to listen. The sound faded into a deeper silence and she blinked in the darkness as she realized that having her father’s friends here made her feel safe. There would be no assassins creeping over the wall for her tonight, no nightmares.

    She patted the gelding’s nose and took the cloak from its peg, letting it fall onto the dusty floor in a moment of spite. Her father’s friend deserved better than that one, she thought, hugging herself in the gloom.

    Pompey paced with his hands clasped tightly behind him. He wore a toga of thick white cloth that left his arms bare, and the muscles moved visibly as he worked his fingers against each other. The lamps in his city home had begun to gutter, but he did not call for slaves to refill the reservoirs. The dim light suited the mood of the consul of Rome.

    “Only standing in the elections could repair the damage of leaving his post. Nothing else is worth the risk he has taken, Regulus.”

    His most senior centurion stood to attention as his general paced the floor. He had been loyal to him for more than twenty years and knew his moods as well as any man.

    “I am yours to command, sir,” he said, staring straight ahead.

    Pompey looked at him and what he saw seemed to satisfy him.

    “You are my right arm, Regulus; I know it. However, I need more than obedience if Caesar is not to inherit the city from my hands. I need ideas. Speak freely and fear nothing.”

    Regulus relaxed slightly with the command. “Have you considered drafting a law to allow you to stand again? He could not take the post if you were the alternative.”

    Pompey frowned. If he thought for a moment that such a thing was possible, he would have considered it. The Senate, even the citizens, would revolt against even the suggestion of a return to those old days. The irony of having helped to bring about the very restrictions that now held him was not wasted on him, but such thoughts brought him no closer to a solution.

    “It is not possible,” he said through clenched teeth.

    “Then we must plan for the future, sir,” Regulus said.

    Pompey stopped to look at him with hope in his eyes. “What do you have in mind?”

    Regulus took a deep breath before speaking. “Let me join his legion. If there is ever a time when you need him to be stopped, you would have a sword close to him.”

    Pompey rubbed his face as he considered the offer. Such loyalty, coupled with so violent a man. Though part of him was repelled by the thought of such a dishonorable course, he would be a fool to refuse a weapon for the years to come. Who knew what the future held, for any of them?

    “You would have to enlist in the ranks,” Pompey said, slowly.

    The centurion breathed hard as he saw his idea was not to be dismissed without a hearing.

    “That will be no hardship for me. My promotions came on the battlefield, from your hand. I have been there before.”

    “But your scars-they will know you for what you are,” Pompey replied.

    “I will say I’m a mercenary. I can play the part easily enough. Let me get close to him, Consul. I am your man.”

    Pompey considered, objections coming and going in his thoughts. He sighed. Politics was a practical business, after all.

    “It could be years, Regulus. Will you be missed?”

    “No, sir. I am alone.”

    “Then it is my order to you, Regulus. Go with my blessing.”

    Regulus struggled to find words. “It… it is an honor, sir. I will be close to him if you call. I swear it.”

    “I know you will, Regulus. I will reward you when-”

    “It is not necessary, sir,” Regulus said quickly, surprising himself. He would not usually have dared to interrupt the consul, but he wanted to give some sign that the trust was well placed. He was gratified when Pompey smiled.

    “If only I had more like you, Regulus. No man is better served than I.”

    “Thank you, sir,” Regulus replied, his chest swelling. He knew he faced years of hard discipline and reduced pay, but it worried him not at all.

CHAPTER 10

    Rome was never still, and as dawn came the vast space of the forum had filled with a shifting mass of citizens, constantly changing as currents moved through them. Fathers held children on their shoulders to catch a glimpse of the consuls, just to say they had seen the men who defeated Spartacus and saved the city.

    To Julius, the crowd seemed faceless and intimidating. Should he stare into space as he spoke, or fix his gaze on one unfortunate citizen? He wondered if they would even hear him. They were silent for Pompey, but Julius didn’t doubt the consul had salted the crowd with his clients. If they shouted and jeered when Julius followed him, it would be a poor start to his candidacy. He went over and over the speech in his mind, praying he wouldn’t stumble or lose his place. There could be questions when he was finished, perhaps from men in the pay of the consuls. He could be humiliated. Carefully, Julius rested his damp palms on his knees, letting the cloth soak up the sweat that clung to them.

    He sat on the raised platform with Crassus and Suetonius’s father without looking at either of them. They were listening attentively as Pompey made a witticism and held up his hands to quiet the laughter. There was no hesitation in him, Julius saw. Pompey’s skill as an orator could be read in the crowd’s reactions. They raised their faces to the consul almost in worship, and Julius felt an awful tightness in his gut at the thought of being next to speak.

    Pompey’s voice became grave as he recounted his service in the consular year, and the crowd spattered applause. The military successes were interspersed with promises of free grain and bread, games and commemorative coins. Crassus stiffened slightly at the last. He wondered where Pompey would find the funds to have his face struck in silver. The worst of it was knowing the bribes were unnecessary. Pompey held the crowd, moving them to laughter and stern pride in moments. It was a masterful performance and when it finished, Julius stood and had to force a smile onto his face as Pompey stepped back and gestured to him. Julius gritted his teeth in annoyance at the outstretched hand, as if he were being brought to the front by a fatherly sponsor.

    As they passed, Pompey spoke quietly to him. “No shields in cloaks, Julius? I thought you would have something prepared.”

    Julius was forced to smile as if the words were some playful comment rather than a barb. Both of them remembered the trial he had won in that forum, where shields depicting scenes from Marius’s life were revealed to the crowd.

    Pompey took his seat without another word, appearing calm and interested. Julius stepped close to the rostrum and paused for a moment, looking over the sea of faces. How many had gathered to hear the consuls give their yearly address? Eight thousand, ten? With the rising sun still hidden behind the temples that bordered the great square, the light was gray and cold as his gaze swept over them. Julius took a deep breath, willing his voice to be steady and strong from the first. It was important that they hear every word.

    “My name is Gaius Julius Caesar, nephew of Marius, who was consul seven times in Rome. I have written my name in the Senate house for the same post. I do it not for the memory of that man, but to continue his work. Do you want to hear me make promises of coins and bread to be handed to you? You are not children to be offered pretty things for your loyalty. A good father does not spoil the child with gifts.”

    Julius paused and began to relax. Every eye in the forum was on him and he felt the first touch of confidence since ascending the platform.

    “I have known those who break their backs growing wheat for your bread. There are no fortunes in feeding others, but they have pride and they are men. I have known many who fought without complaint for this city. You will see them sometimes on the streets, missing eyes or limbs, passed by the crowds as we look aside, forgetting we can laugh and love only because those soldiers gave so much.

    “We have grown this city on the blood and sweat of those who have gone before, but there is still much to do. Did you hear Consul Crassus talk of soldiers to make the streets safe? I give my men to you without regret, but when I take them away to find new lands and riches for Rome, who will keep you safe then, if not yourselves?”

    The crowd shifted restlessly and Julius hesitated for a moment. He could see the idea in his head, but he strained for a way to make them understand.

    “Aristotle said a statesman is anxious to produce a certain moral character in his citizens, a disposition to virtue. I look for it in you and it is there, ready to be called forth. You are the ones who took to the walls to defend Rome from the slave rebellion. You did not hide from your duty then and you will not now, when I ask it of you.” He went on, louder than before. “I will set aside funds for any man without work if he cleans the streets and keeps the gangs from terrorizing the weakest of us. Where is the glory of Rome if we live in fear at night? How many of you bar your doors and wait behind them for the first scratching of the murderer or the thief?”

    Silently, he thanked Alexandria for what she had told him, and saw from the nodding heads that he had struck a chord with many of the crowd.

    “Consul Crassus has appointed me aedile, which means I am the one to whom you should complain if there is crime or disorder in the city. Come to me if you are wrongly accused, and I will hear your case and defend you myself if I cannot find representation for you. My time and strength are yours now, if you want it. My clients and my men will make the streets safe, and I will make the law fair for all. If I am consul, I will be the flood that clears Rome of the filth of centuries, but not alone. I will not
give
you a better city. Together, we will make her new.”

    He felt a giddy joy in him as they responded. This was what it was like to be touched by gods. His chest swelled as his voice poured over the crowd, and they strove to meet his eye.

    “Where is the wealth our legions have brought back to the city? In this forum alone? It is not enough, I think. If I am made consul, I will not shy from the smaller things. The roads are blocked by traffic so that trade is stifled. I will make them move by night and silence the endless shouting of the ox drivers.” They chuckled at that and Julius smiled back at them. His people.

    “Do you think I should not? Should I use my time to build another fine building you will never use?”

    Someone shouted, “No!” and Julius grinned at the lone voice, enjoying the ripple of laughter that spread through them.

    “To that man who shouted, I say yes! We
should
build great soaring temples and bridges and aqueducts for clean water. If a foreign king comes to Rome, I want him to know we are blessed in all things. I want him to look up-but not tread in anything horrible when he does.”

    Julius waited for the laughter to fade before going on. He knew they listened for the simple reason that his voice rang with conviction. He believed what he said and they heard him and were lifted.

    “We are a practical people, you and I. We need drains and safety and honest trade and cheap prices for the food to live. But we are also dreamers,
practical
dreamers who will remake the world to endure a thousand years. We build to last. We are the inheritors of Greece. We have strength, but not just that of the body. We invent and perfect until there is nothing so fine as Rome. One street at a time, if need be.”

    He took a deep, slow breath and his eyes filled with affection for the people listening.

    “I look at you all and I am proud. My blood has helped to make Rome and I do not see it wasted when I look on her people. This is our land. Yet there is a world outside it that has yet to know what we have found. What we have made is great enough to take into the dark places, to spread the rule of law, the honor of our city, until
anywhere
in the world one of us can say ‘I am a Roman citizen’ and be assured of good treatment. If I am made consul, I will work for that day.”

    He had finished, though they didn’t know it at first. They waited patiently to hear what he would say next, and Julius was almost tempted into continuing, before an inner voice of caution told him to simply thank them and step down.

    The silence broke in a roar of appreciation and Julius flushed with the excitement of it. He was unaware of the men on the platform behind him and could see only the people who had listened, each one hearing him alone and taking in the words. It was better than wine.

    Behind his back, Pompey leaned over to Crassus and whispered as he applauded.

    “You made him aedile? He is no friend of yours, Crassus. Believe it.”

    For the benefit of the crowd, Crassus smiled back at his colleague, his eyes glittering angrily.

    “I know how to judge a friend, Pompey.”

    Pompey stood then and clapped a hand to Julius’s shoulder as he came abreast of him. As the crowd saw the two men smile at each other, they cheered again and Pompey raised his other arm to acknowledge them, as if Julius were his pupil and had done well to please them.

    “A wonderful speech, Caesar,” Pompey said. “You will be like a fresh wind in the Senate if you are successful. Practical dreamers, a wonderful concept.”

    Julius clasped the offered hand before turning to call Crassus to the front. The other consul was already moving, too astute to let the opportunity pass without his presence.

    The three men stood together while the crowd cheered, and from a distance their smiles looked genuine. Senator Prandus also rose, but no one noticed.

    Alexandria turned to Teddus at her side as the crowd cheered the men on the platform.

    “Well, what did you think of him?” she said.

    The old soldier rubbed the bristles on his chin. He had come because Alexandria had asked him, but he hadn’t the slightest interest in the promises of the men who ruled his city, and didn’t know how to say that without offending his employer.

    “He was all right,” he said, after reflection. “Though I didn’t hear him offer to have a coin stamped like the others. Promises are all very well, mistress, but a silver coin buys you a good meal and a jug.”

    Alexandria frowned for a moment, then snapped open the heavy bangle she wore on her wrist, sliding a denarius out in her hand. She gave it to Teddus and he accepted it, raising his eyebrows.

    “What’s that for?” he said.

    “You spend it,” she replied. “When it’s gone and you’re hungry again, Caesar will still be there.”

    Teddus nodded as if he understood her, carefully tucking the coin into the hidden pocket of his tunic. He glanced around to see if anyone had noted where he kept his money, but the crowd seemed focused on the raised stage. Still, it paid to be careful in Rome.

    Servilia watched the man she loved as Pompey clapped an arm on his shoulders. The consul could scent a changing wind as fast as any of the other men in the Senate, though she wondered if Pompey knew Julius would not allow even the semblance of control from the outgoing consuls.

    There were times when she hated the shallow games they all played. Even giving Julius and Prandus the chance to speak at the formal consuls’ address was part of it. She knew of two more candidates on the Senate list, and there were still a few days to go before the lists were closed. None of those had been allowed to cheapen the consuls’ address with their tin promises.

    The crowd would remember only three men and Julius was one of them. She let out a breath of tension. Unlike most of those in the forum, she had not been able to relax and enjoy the speeches. While Julius stood to face them, her heart had pounded in fear and pride. He hadn’t slipped. The memory of the man she had found in Spain was simply that now. Julius had recaptured the old magic and it touched even her as she listened and saw his bright eyes sweep over her without stopping. He was so young; could the crowd see that? For all their skill and wit, Pompey and Crassus were fading powers compared to him, and he was hers.

    A man stepped a little too closely to her as he wound his way through the crowd, and Servilia caught a glimpse of a hard, scarred face, damp with sweat. Before she could react, a strong hand fastened on the man’s arm, making him cry out.

    “Be on your way,” Brutus said softly.

    The man yanked hard to free himself and retreated, though he paused to spit when he was safely out of range. Servilia turned to her son and he smiled at her, the incident forgotten.

    “I think you have backed the right horse, Mother,” he said, looking up at Julius. “Can’t you feel it? Everything is in place for him.”

    Servilia chuckled, caught by his enthusiasm. Without his armor, her son looked more boyish than usual, and she reached up to ruffle his hair affectionately.

    “One speech doesn’t make a consul, you know. The work starts today.” She followed his gaze up to where Julius was turning away at last to make his way into the crowd, taking outstretched hands and responding to the citizens as they called to him. Even at a distance, she could see his joy.

    “But it is a good start,” she said.