Emperor: the field of swords E#3 (22 page)

    Julius grinned, carried away by his own enthusiasm. How he had argued with his friends over the destination! Yet in the end, there had been only one choice. Alexander had gone east and that path was well trodden. He would go west.

    “I want the wild land, gentlemen,” he said. “I want Gaul.”

    In full armor, Julius strode through the night, heading toward Bibilus’s home. Pompey and Crassus believed he knew some way to muzzle his co-consul, but the truth was he had no clear idea of how to prevent Bibilus and Suetonius from making a mockery of all their plans.

    Julius clenched his fists as he walked. He had given up his daughter and pledged time and money and power to Pompey and Crassus. In return, he would have a freedom greater than any Roman general in the city’s history. Scipio Africanus had not had the range of powers Julius would have in Gaul. Even Marius had answered to the Senate. Julius knew he would not let such a thing fall from his hands because of one man, no matter what he had to do.

    The crowds parted for him as he swept through. Those who recognized him fell silent. The new consul’s expression forbade any attempt to greet or congratulate him, and more than a few wondered what news could have so angered a man on the very day of his election.

    Julius left them murmuring in his wake as he approached the great gates and columns of Bibilus’s house. His resolve hardened as he raised his fist to hammer on the oak door. He would not be denied this last step.

    The slave that answered the summons was a youth whose face was heavily painted, giving him a lascivious expression even as he recognized the visitor and his eyes opened in surprise.

    “I am a consul of Rome. You know the law?”

    The slave nodded, terrified.

    “Then bar no door to me. Touch my sleeve and you will die. I have come to see your master. Lead me in.”

    “C-Consul…”

    The young man tried to drop to one knee and Julius snapped at him.

    “Now!”

    The painted boy needed no other urging. He turned and almost ran from Julius, leaving the door to the street swinging behind them.

    Julius marched behind, passing through rooms where a dozen similarly painted children watched, frozen as he passed. One or two of them cried out in amazement and Julius glared at them. Were there no adults in this place? The way they were dressed reminded him more of Servilia’s whores than…

    He almost lost the boy slave around a corner as the thought came to him. Then he hurried and the slave increased his speed through antechambers and corridors until they burst together into a lighted room.

    “Master!” the young man cried out. “Consul Caesar is here!”

    Julius paused, panting slightly with the anger that coursed through his veins. Bibilus was there in the room and Suetonius stood bent over him, whispering into his ear. More of the pretty slaves were standing at the edges, and two naked boys lolled at the feet of the two men. Julius saw their faces were flushed with wine and their eyes were older than their flesh. He shuddered as he turned his face to Suetonius.

    “Get out,” he said.

    Suetonius had risen slowly as if in a trance at Julius’s entrance. He was ugly with malice as he struggled with conflicting emotions. A consul could not be touched, could not be held. Even Suetonius’s position in the Senate would not save him after an insult.

    Casually, Julius dropped his hand to his sword. He knew Bibilus would be weaker without his friend. Julius had known that even when he had not had a lever to twist into the fat man’s innards. Now he had found one.

    As Suetonius looked to Bibilus for a reprieve, he found nothing but terror in the consul’s fleshy face. Suetonius heard Julius march across the marble floor and still he delayed, waiting for the single word that would allow him to stay.

    Bibilus watched like a child with a snake as Julius came close to Suetonius and leaned in toward him. Suetonius shrank back.

    “Get out,” Julius repeated softly, and Suetonius fled.

    As Julius turned to Bibilus, the consul found a stammering voice.

    “This is my h-home…” he attempted.

    Julius roared at him, a crash of sound that sent Bibilus scrambling backwards on his couch.

    “You filth! You dare to talk to me with these children sitting at your feet! If I killed you now, it would be a blessing for Rome. No, better, I should cut off the last thing that makes you a man. I will do it, now.”

    Drawing his sword, Julius advanced on the couch and Bibilus screamed, clawing at the cloth to try to get away. He wept heavy tears as Julius held the gleaming blade next to his groin.

    Bibilus froze. “Please,” he whimpered.

    Julius twisted the blade, worrying it deeper into the folds of cloth. Bibilus pressed himself against the back of the couch but could retreat no farther.

    “Please, whatever you want…” He began a series of choking sobs that added shining mucus to his tears until his face was barely human.

    Julius knew the Fates had given everything into his hands. The coldest part of him rejoiced in Bibilus revealing such a weakness. A few choice threats and the man would never dare show his face in the Senate again. Yet even as Julius began to speak, one of the children shifted and Julius glanced at him. The boy was not looking at Julius, but at his master, craning to get a better view. There was hatred there, horrifying in such a young face. The boy’s ribs could be clearly seen and his neck bore a purple bruise. Julius realized his daughter was the same age. He turned his anger on Bibilus.

    “Sell your slaves. Sell them where they will not be hurt, and send me the addresses, that I may check each one. You will live alone,
if
I let you live at all.”

    Bibilus nodded, his jowls quivering. “Yes, yes, I will… don’t
cut
me.” He broke down again into a stream of miserable sound, and Julius struck him twice across the face, rocking his head back. A thin stream of blood dribbled down across his lips, and he shook visibly.

    “If I see you in the Senate, your immunity will not protect you, I swear by all the gods. I will see to it that you are taken somewhere quiet and burnt and broken over days. You will beg for an end to it.”

    “But I am consul!” Bibilus choked.

    Julius leaned in with the sword tip, making him gasp.

    “Only in name. I will not have a man like you in my Senate house. Never in this life. Your time there is over.”

    “Can he hurt me now?” the slave boy asked suddenly.

    Julius looked at him and saw that he had risen to his feet. He shook his head.

    “Then give me a knife.
I’ll
cut him,” the boy said.

    Julius looked into his eyes and saw nothing but resolve.

    “You’ll be killed if you do,” Julius said softly.

    The boy shrugged. “Worth it,” he said. “Give me a blade and I’ll do it.”

    Bibilus opened his mouth and Julius twisted the gladius viciously.

    “You be quiet. There are men talking here. You’ve no part in it.” He turned back to the slave and saw the way he stood a little straighter at the words.

    “I won’t stop you, lad, if you want it, but he’s more use to me alive than dead. At least for now.” A corpse would mean another election and a new adversary who might not have Bibilus’s weaknesses. Yet Julius did not send the boy away.

    “You want him alive?” the child said.

    Julius returned the gaze for a long moment before nodding.

    “All right, but I want to leave here tonight.”

    “I can find you a place, lad. You have my gratitude.”

    “Not just me. All of us. No more nights here.”

    Julius looked at him in surprise. “All of you?”

    “All of us,” the slave said, holding his eyes without the slightest tremor. Julius looked away first.

    “Very well, boy. Gather them at the front door. Leave me alone with Bibilus for a little while longer and I’ll come to you.”

    “Thank you, sir,” the boy said. In a few moments, all the children in the room had vanished with him, and the only sound was Bibilus’s tortured breathing.

    “How d-did you find out?” Bibilus whispered.

    “Until I saw them, I did not know you for what you are. Even if I had not, you are greasy with guilt.” Julius growled, “Remember, I will know if you bring more children into your home. If I hear of a single boy or girl coming through your doors, I will know and I will not hold back from you. Do you understand me? The Senate is mine now. Completely.”

    At the last word, Julius jerked his blade and Bibilus screamed, releasing his bladder in terror. Moaning, he clutched at the spreading stain of urine tinged with blood. Julius sheathed the sword and headed back to the front, where more than thirty of the slaves had gathered.

    Each one of the refugees held a few items of clothing bundled in their arms. Their eyes were large and fearful in the light of the lamps, and the silence was almost painful as they all turned to look at him.

    “All right. Tonight you’ll stay in my own home,” Julius said. “I’ll find you families who have lost a child and who will love you.” The happiness in their expression shamed him worse than knives. He had not come to the house for them.

CHAPTER 21

    The summer had come and gone with its long, busy days, but winter was still far off as Julius mounted his horse at the Quirinal gate, ready to join the legions in the Campus. He looked around him as he took the reins, trying to fix this last picture of the city in his mind. Who knew how long it would have to sustain him in distant Gaul? Those travelers and merchants who had been to the small Roman camp at the far foot of the Alps said it was a bitter place, colder than any they had known. Julius had punished his lines of credit for furs and provisions for ten thousand soldiers. Eventually, he knew there would have to be a reckoning, but he did not allow the thought of debt to spoil the final moments in his city.

    The Quirinal gate was open and Julius could see the Campus Martius through it, with his soldiers waiting patiently in shining squares. Julius doubted there was a legion anywhere to equal the Tenth, and Brutus had worked hard to make something greater out of the men he had conscripted. Not one of them had been allowed leave in almost a year, and they had used their time well. Julius was pleased with the name Brutus had chosen for them. The Third Gallica would be hardened in the land for which they had been named.

    Brutus and Octavian mounted up beside him, while Domitius checked his saddle straps for tightness one last time. Julius smiled to himself at their silver armor. All three men had earned the right to wear it, but they made an unusual sight in the streets by the gate and already there was a crowd of urchins come to point and gawk at them. As well they might. Every part of their armor shone as brightly as polish and cloths could make them, and Julius felt a thrill at riding for Rome with these men.

    If Salomin had come with them, it would have been perfect, Julius thought. It was just one more nagging regret in a sea of them that he had not been able to persuade the little fighter to make the trip to Gaul. Salomin had spoken for a long time about Roman honor, and Julius had listened. It was all he could offer after Pompey’s shameful treatment of him, but he had not pressed him after the first refusal.

    The months in Senate had exceeded Julius’s hopes, and the triumvirate was holding better than he had any right to expect. Crassus had begun his domination of trade and his great fleet already rivaled anything Carthage had ever put to sea. His fledgling legion had been hammered into some sort of shape by the best officers in the Tenth, and Pompey would continue that work when they were gone. The three men had developed a grudging respect for each other in their months together, and Julius did not regret the bargain he had struck with them.

    After the night of the election, Bibilus had not been seen in the Senate house for a single meeting. Rumors of a long-term illness had spread through the city, but Julius maintained his silence about what had happened. He had kept his promises to the children, sending them to be raised in loving families far in the north. His private shame at profiting from their distress had prompted him to buy them free, though it bled his funds even whiter on top of everything else. Strangely, that simple act had given him more satisfaction than almost anything else in his months as consul.

    “Brutus!” a voice called, shattering the moment.

    Julius turned his horse in a tight circle and Brutus laughed aloud at the sight of Alexandria struggling through the crowds to the gate. As she reached him, she stood on tiptoe to be kissed, but Brutus reached down and heaved her into the saddle. Julius looked away, not that they would have noticed. It was difficult not to think of Servilia as he saw their happiness together.

    When Alexandria was lowered to the road, Julius noticed she carried a cloth package. He raised his eyebrows as she held it out for him, blushing with embarrassment from the embrace he had witnessed. Julius took the bundle and unwrapped it slowly, his eyes widening as he revealed a helmet worked with extraordinary skill. It was polished iron and shining with oil, but the strangest thing was the full face of it, shaped to resemble his own features.

    Reverently, Julius lifted it above his head and then lowered it, pressing the hinged face back until it clicked. It fitted like a second skin. The eyes were large enough to see out easily, and he knew from the reactions of his companions that it achieved the effect Alexandria had wanted.

    “It has a cold expression,” Octavian murmured, gazing at him.

    Brutus nodded and Alexandria reached up to Julius’s saddle to speak privately to him.

    “I thought it would protect your head better than the one you usually wear. There is a slide on the top for a plume, if you want one. There is nothing like it in Rome.”

    Julius looked out through the iron mask at her, wishing for one painful moment that she was his and not his friend’s.

    “It is perfect,” he said. “Thank you.” He reached down and hugged her, smelling the rich scent she used. An impulse struck him then and he removed the helmet as she stood back, his face flushed with more than just the heat. The legion would wait a little longer, after all. Perhaps there was still time to visit Servilia before he left.

    “Alexandria, I must ask you to excuse us,” Julius said. “Gentlemen? I have an errand to run in the city before we join the men.”

    Domitius vaulted into his saddle as an answer and the other two formed up. Alexandria blew a kiss to Brutus as Julius dug his heels into the horse’s flanks and they trotted down the road, the crowd scattering before them.

    As they neared Servilia’s house, Brutus lost some of the glow Alexandria had imparted. If anything, he was relieved that the relationship between Julius and his mother had ended. But now, seeing his friend’s eager expression, he groaned inwardly. He should have known Julius wouldn’t give up so easily.

    “Are you sure?” Brutus asked him as they dismounted at the door and passed the horses into the hands of her slaves.

    “I am,” Julius replied, striding in.

    As consul, he could go where he pleased in the city, but all four of them were known to the house in various fashions, and Octavian and Domitius paused in an outer chamber to say their own goodbyes to their favorites while they had the chance. Brutus threw himself onto a long couch and settled down to wait. He alone of them had never visited the house for anything except to see his mother. There was something vaguely incestuous about the idea and he ignored the interest of the girls she kept there. Anyway, there was Alexandria, he told himself virtuously.

    Julius strode through the corridors to Servilia’s private rooms. What would he say to her? They had not spoken in months, but there was a magic to leaving, a lack of consequence that might help them find some sort of friendship, at least.

    His spirits lifted as he saw her. She wore a dark blue wrap that left her shoulders bare and he smiled as he saw his black pearl set in gold against the first gentle swell of her breasts. Alexandria deserved her reputation, he thought.

    “I’m leaving, Servilia,” he said, walking toward her. “For Gaul. I was at the gate when I thought of you.”

    He thought he saw a smile touch her mouth as he reached her, and took heart from it. She had never looked so beautiful as she did then, and he knew he would have no difficulty remembering her face on the long march ahead. He took her hands in his and pressed them, looking into her eyes.

    “Why don’t you come?” he said, “I could have the best carriage in Rome brought to the column. There’s a Roman settlement in the south of Gaul, and you could be with me.”

    “To save you finding your own whores, Julius?” she said softly. “Are you worried what you’ll do without a woman so far from home?”

    He gaped at her, seeing a cold hardness that was almost frightening in its intensity.

    “I don’t understand you,” he said.

    She pulled her hands back from him and he swayed. He was close enough to smell her perfume and it was maddening. Not to be able to touch her after every inch had been his. He felt anger surge in him.

    “You are cruel, Servilia,” he muttered, and she laughed at him.

    “Do you know how many jilted lovers I have seen shouting in this house? Consuls as well, Julius, or do you think they are too mighty for such a display? Whatever it is you wanted from me, it is not here. Do you understand?”

    Somewhere behind her, Julius heard a man’s voice call out. He tensed.

    “Crassus? Is he here?”

    Servilia took a step forward, pushing her hand against his chest. Her teeth bared as she spoke and her voice had lost all of the softness he loved.

    “It is no business of yours whom I see, Julius.”

    Julius lost his temper, his hands clenching in impotent rage. In his passion, he thought of snatching the pearl from her neck, and she moved back from him as if she sensed it.

    “You’ll be his whore now? He’s closer to your age, at least,” Julius said.

    She slapped him hard and he rocked her head back with a blow of his own, following instantly from hers so that the sounds came almost together.

    Servilia raked her other hand at his eyes, scoring his cheek with her nails, and Julius snarled at her, stepping in to attack. He was blind with fury as she fell back at last from him, and then the anger left him empty and panting, his face bitter. A drop of blood fell from his chin where she had marked him. His gaze followed it.

    “So this is who you are, Julius,” she said, standing stiffly before him.

    He saw her mouth already beginning to swell and shame overwhelmed him.

    She sneered. “I wonder what my son will say when you see him next.” Her eyes glittered with malice and Julius shook his head.

    “I would have given you everything, Servilia. Anything you wanted,” he said softly. She walked away from him then, leaving him alone.

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    Brutus was standing as Julius came back through the outer rooms of the house. Octavian and Domitius were with him and Julius knew from their expressions that they had heard. Brutus was pale, his eyes dead, and Julius felt an involuntary shudder of fear as he looked at his friend.

    “You hit her, Julius?” Brutus said.

    Julius touched his bloody cheek. “I will not explain myself to you, even to you,” he replied, beginning to walk past the three men.

    Brutus dropped his hand to the gold hilt he had won, and Domitius and Octavian touched their own, moving to stand between him and Julius.

    “Don’t,” Domitius snapped. “Take a
step
back!”

    Brutus broke off his gaze from Julius to the men facing him with such menace.

    “Do you really think you could stop me?” he said.

    Domitius returned his glare. “If I have to. Do you think drawing your sword will change anything? What goes on between them is no more your business than it is mine. Let it go.”

    Brutus took his hand away from his sword. He opened his mouth to speak and then walked past them all out to the horses, leaping into the saddle and kicking his mount into a canter back toward the gates.

    Domitius wiped sweat from his forehead with his hand. He glanced at Octavian and saw the worry there as the young man was caught between forces he could not stand.

    “He’ll calm down, Octavian, depend on it.”

    “The march will sweat it out of him,” Julius said, looking after his friend. He hoped it was true. He touched his cheek again and winced.

    “Not the best omen,” he murmured to himself. “Let’s go, gentlemen. I have seen enough of this city to last me for a long time. Once we step across the gate line, we are free of all of it.”

    “I hope so,” Domitius replied, but Julius did not hear him.

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    As they trotted toward the Quirinal gate, Brutus was there in its shadow. Julius saw his eyes were bloodshot holes in a murderous expression, and he reined in by him.

    “I made a mistake going back to her, Brutus,” Julius said, watching him closely. He loved his friend more than anyone in the world, but if his hand moved for the hilt of his gladius, Julius was ready to kick his horse straight at him to spoil an attack. Every muscle of his legs was tense for the action as Brutus looked up.

    “The legions are ready to march. It’s time,” Brutus said. His eyes were cold and Julius let out a slow breath, words dying in his throat.

    “Then lead us out,” he said softly.

    Brutus nodded. Without a word, he rode under the gate and out onto the Campus, without looking back. Julius pressed his heels into his horse to follow him.

    “Consul!” a shout came from the crowd.

    Julius groaned aloud. Was there no end to it? The gate’s shadow was so close, beckoning him. With a grim expression, he watched a group of men run up to the horses. Herminius the moneylender was at their head, and as Julius recognized him, he eyed the gate with real longing.

    “Sir, I’m glad I caught you. You cannot be meaning to leave the city without making good on your loans, I am sure?” Herminius said, panting from his exertions.