Emperor: The Gates of Rome E#1 (11 page)

"Such hatred will kill you, boy. And then you won't be there to protect Gaius."

"I will always be there for him."

"No. Not until you can keep your temper. You will die in some brawl in a stinking barroom, unless you can find calm in yourself. You would have killed me, yes; at my age, my stamina melts faster than I care to admit. But if we had met when I was young, I would have cut through you faster than corn falls to the knife. Remember that the next time you meet a young man with a reputation to make." Renius grinned then and it was like seeing the teeth of a shark, lips sliding back over a cruel expression.

"He may get the chance sooner than you think," Cabera said, coming out of the shadows.

"What? You were listening, you old devil?" Renius said, still smiling, although his expression eased at the sight of the healer, whom he had come to respect.

"Look to the city. You will not be going anywhere tonight, I think," Cabera continued, his expression serious.

Both Marcus and Renius turned to look out over the hills. Although Rome was hidden by the rise of the land, an orange glow grew brighter as they watched in horror.

"Jupiter's balls—they've set the city on fire!" Renius spat. His beloved city.

For a moment, he thought of spurring the horse away, knowing his place should be in the streets. Men knew his face; he could help restore order. A cool hand touched his ankle and he looked down into the face of old Cabera.

"I see the future occasionally. If you go there now, you will be dead by dawn. This is truth."

Renius shifted his weight and the gelding clopped its hooves on the sand, feeling his emotions.

"And if I stay?" he snapped.

Cabera shrugged. "You may die here too. The slaves will be coming to loot this place. We don't have long now.

Marcus gaped at the words. There were close to five hundred slaves on the estate. If they all went wild, there would be butchery. Without another word, he ran back into the buildings, shouting for Tubruk to raise the alarm.

"Would you like a hand dismounting from that fine gelding?" asked Cabera, his eyes wide and innocent.

Renius grimaced, suddenly able to muster his usual anger despite the cheerful old man. "The gods don't tell us what is going to happen," he said.

Cabera smiled wistfully. "I used to believe that. When I was young and arrogant, I used to think I could somehow read people, see their true selves and guess at what they would do. It was years before I was humble enough to know it could not be me. It isn't like glancing through a clear window. I just look at you and toward the city and I feel death. Why not? Many men have talents that could almost be magic to those without them. Think of it like that if it makes you more comfortable. Come on. You will be needed here tonight."

Renius snorted. "I suppose you have made a lot of money with this talent of yours?"

"Once or twice I have, but money does not stay with me. It steals out into the hands of wine merchants and loose women and gamblers. All I have is my experiences, but they are worth more than coin."

After a few moments of thought, Renius accepted the helping hand and was not surprised to find it steady and strong, not after seeing those skinny shoulders pull the heavy bow in the training yard.

"You will have to hold my scabbard for me, old man. I will be all right when my sword is out." He began to lead the horse back into the stables, stroking its nose and murmuring that they would ride later, when all the excitement was over. He paused for a moment. "You can see the future?"

Cabera grinned and hopped from one foot to the other, amused. "You want to know if you will live or die here, yes?" he chattered. "That is what everyone asks."

Renius found his usual sourness coming back in force. "No. I don't think I do want to know that. Keep it to yourself, magician." He led the horse away without looking back, his shoulders showing his irritation.

When he had gone, Cabera's face filled with grief. He liked the man and was pleased to find that a sort of decency still resided in Renius's heart, despite the fame and money he had won in his life.

"Perhaps I should have let you go and wither with the other old men, my friend," he muttered to himself. "You might even have found happiness somewhere. Yet if you had left, the boys would have been surely killed, so this is a sin I can live with, I think." His eyes were bleak as he turned to the great gates of the estate outer wall and began to push them closed. He wondered if he too would die in this foreign land, unknown in his own. He wondered if his father's spirit was close by and watching and decided that it probably wasn't. His father at least had had the sense not to sit in the cave and wait for the bear to come home.

Galloping hoofbeats sounded in the distance. Cabera held the main gate open as he watched the approaching figure. Was it the first of the attackers or a messenger from Rome? He cursed his vision that allowed him such fragmentary glimpses into the future, and never anything that involved himself. Here he was holding the door for the rider, so he had had no warning. The clearest visions were those in which he wasn't involved at all, which was probably meant to be a lesson from the gods—one rather wasted on him, on the whole. He had found that he could not live life as an observer.

A trail of dark dust followed the figure, barely showing in the gloom of the gathering twilight.

"Hold the gate!" a voice commanded.

Cabera raised an eyebrow. What did the man think he was doing?

Gaius's father, Julius, came thundering through the opening. His face was red and his rich clothes were stained with soot.

"Rome is on fire," he said as he jumped to the ground. "But they will not get my home." In that moment, he recognized Cabera and patted his shoulder in greeting.

"How is my son?"

"Doing well. I am..." Cabera trailed off as the vigorous older version of Gaius strode away to organize the defenses. Tubruk's name echoed around the internal corridors of the estate.

Cabera looked puzzled for a moment. The visions had changed a little—the man was a force of nature and might just be enough to tip the balance in their favor.

His mind went blank again as he heard the shouts rise in the fields. Muttering in frustration, Cabera climbed the steps up to the estate wall, to use his eyes where his internal vision had failed.

Darkness filled every horizon, but Cabera could see pinpoint pricks of light moving in the fields, meeting and multiplying like fireflies. Each would be a lamp or a torch held by angry slaves, their blood warmed by the heat of the sky over the capital. They were already marching toward the great estate.

CHAPTER 8

All the house servants and slaves stayed loyal. Lucius, the estate doctor, unwrapped his bandages and materials, spreading vicious-looking metal tools on a piece of cloth on one of the wide kitchen tables. He collared two of the kitchen boys as they were grabbing cleavers to help in the battle.

"You two stay with me. You'll get your fill of cutting and blood right here." They were reluctant, but Lucius was more of an old family friend and his word had always been law to them before. The lawlessness that was rife in Rome had not yet spread to the estate.

Outside, Renius had everyone in the yard. Grimly, he counted them. Twenty-nine men and seventeen women. "How many of you have been in the army?" his voice rapped.

Six or seven hands rose.

"You men have priority for swords. The rest of you go and find anything that will cut or crush. Run!"

The last word shocked the frightened men and women out of their lethargy and they scattered. Those who had already found weapons remained, their faces dark and full of fear.

Renius walked up to one of them, a short, fat cook with an enormous cleaver resting on his shoulder. "What's your name?" he said.

"Caecilius," came the reply. "I'll tell my children I fought with you when this is over."

"That you will. We don't have to break a full assault. The attackers are out for easy targets to rape and rob. I mean to make this estate a little too hard to crack for them to bother with. How's your nerve?"

"Good, sir. I'm used to killing pigs and calves, so I won't faint at a drop or two of blood."

"This is a little different. These pigs have swords and clubs. Don't hesitate. Throat and groin. Find something to block a blow—some sort of shield."

"Yes, sir, directly."

The man attempted to salute and Renius forced himself to smile, biting back his temper at the sloppy manners. He watched the fat figure run away into the buildings and wiped the first beads of sweat from his brow. Strange that such men as that should understand loyalty where so many others threw it aside at the first hint of freedom. He shrugged. Some men would always be animals and others would be... men.

Marcus walked out into the yard, his sword out of its scabbard. He was smiling. "Would you like me to stand near you, Renius? Cover your left side for you?"

"If I wanted help, puppy, I'd ask you. Until that time, take yourself to the gate and keep a lookout. Call me when you can see numbers."

Marcus snapped off a salute, much crisper than that of the cook, yet held a little too long. Renius could sense his insolence and considered breaking the boy's mouth for him. No, right now he needed that stupid confidence of youth. He'd learn soon enough what killing was like.

As the men returned, he sent them to positions along the walls. They were far too few, but he believed what he had said to Caecilius. The outbuildings would be burned, no doubt; the granaries would probably go and the animals would be slaughtered, but the main complex would not be worth the deaths it would take. An army could take it in minutes, he knew—but these were slaves, drunk on stolen wine and freedom that would vanish again with the morning sun. One strong man with a good sword arm and a ruthless temperament could handle a mob.

There was no sign yet of Julius or Cabera. No doubt the former was putting on his breastplate and greaves, the full uniform. But where had the old healer got to? That bow of his would be a useful asset in the first few minutes of bloodshed.

The noise of the men on the walls was like a flock of geese cackling in excited nervousness.

"Silence!" Renius snapped. "The next man to speak will get back down here and face me."

In the sudden absence of chatter, they could again hear the screams and yells of the slaves in the fields.

"We need to listen to what is going on outside. Keep silent and stretch a few muscles. Keep a distance from the next man along, so you can swing without cutting his head off."

The men shuffled apart from the little knots that had formed out of a need for contact. The fear was in all their eyes. Renius cursed to himself. Ten good men from his old legion and he could hold this place until dawn. These were children with sticks and knives. He took a deep breath as he tried to find words to encourage them. Even the iron legions had needed speeches to fire their blood, and they were confident of their skills.

"There is nowhere to run to. If the mob breaks past you, everyone in this house will die. That is your responsibility. You must not leave your position—we are stretched thinly enough as it is. The wall is four feet wide—one long pace. Learn it—if you take more than one step back, you will fall."

He watched as the men shuffled around on the wall, checking the width for themselves. His face hardened.

"I will keep fighters in the courtyard to deal with any that get over the wall. Do not look down, even if you see your friends being killed before you."

Cabera came out of the buildings, his bow restrung in his hand. "This is how you inspire them? Your empire is built on this sort of speech?" he muttered.

Renius frowned at him. "I have never lost a battle. Not with my legion, not in the arena. I have never had a man run or break under my command. If you run, you will pass me, and I will not run."

"I won't run," Marcus said clearly, into the silence.

Renius met his eyes, seeing a touch of the madness he had witnessed before.

"Nor will I, Renius," said another.

The others all nodded and murmured that they would sooner die, but still the faces of a few were puckered in terror.

"Your children, your brothers, your fathers will ask you if you did. Be sure you can look them all in the eye."

Heads nodded and shoulders lifted a little straighter.

"Better," Cabera muttered again.

Julius moved easily through the open door onto the courtyard. His breastplate and leggings were oiled and smooth. His short scabbard swung as he walked. His face was a brutal mask as an obvious rage burned inside. The men on the wall turned away from him, looking out over the fields.

"I will take the head of every man from my estate not within these walls," he growled.

Cabera shook his head quickly, not wanting to disagree with the man while those on the wall were listening. "Sir," he whispered. "They all have friends outside. Good men and women who are trapped or unable to fight through to you. Such a threat hurts their morale."

"It pleases me. Every man outside these walls will be killed and I will pile their heads inside the gates! This is my home and Rome is my city. We will cut out the filth that burn the houses and scatter them on the wind! Do you hear me, little man?" His internal fury built into incandescent rage. Renius and Cabera stared at him as he climbed up the corner steps and walked the length of the wall, shouting orders and noting sloppiness.

"For a man in politics, he has an unusual approach to a problem," Cabera said quietly.

"Rome is full of men like him. That, my friend, is why we have an empire, not empty speeches." Renius smiled his shark smile and walked over to where the women waited in a quietly murmuring group.

"What can we do?" asked a slave girl. He recognized her as the one he had whipped so many months ago for distracting the boys in their training. Her name was Alexandria, it came back to him. While the others shrank from his gaze, as befitted the rank of slaves of the house, she held his eyes and waited for his answer.

"Fetch some knives. If anyone gets past the wall, you must fall on them and keep stabbing until they are dead."

A gasp came from a couple of the older women, and one looked a little sick.

"Do you want to be raped and killed? Gods, woman, I am not asking you to stand on the wall, just to protect our backs. There are too few men to bring some down to protect you as well!" He had no patience with their softness. Good for bed, but when you had to depend on one... Gods!

Alexandria nodded. "Knives. The spare wood axe is in the stable, unless someone has it. Go and search for some, Susanna. Quickly now."

A matronly type, still looking pale, trotted off on the errand.

"Can we carry water? Arrows? Fire? Is there anything else we can do?"

"Nothing," Renius snapped, losing patience. "Just make sure you kill anyone that lands in the yard. Put a knife in their throat before they can regain their feet. It's a ten-foot fall; there'll be a moment of weakness when you must strike."

"We won't let you down, sir," Alexandria replied.

He held her gaze for a second longer, noting the flash of hate that broke through the calm demeanor. He seemed to have more enemies in this place than outside the walls!

"See you don't," he said curtly, and turned on his heel.

The cook had returned with a large metal plate strapped to his chest. His enthusiasm was embarrassing, but Renius clapped him on the shoulder as he went to join the others.

Tubruk was standing with Cabera, holding a strung bow in his large hands.

"Old Lucius is a fine shot with a bow, but he's in the kitchens setting up for the wounded," he said, his face grim.

"Get him out here. He can climb down later, when he's done the job," Renius replied, without looking at him. He was scanning the walls, noting the positions, looking for failing nerves. They couldn't hold against a proper attack, so he prayed to his household god that the slaves outside couldn't mount one.

"Will the slaves have bows?" he asked Tubruk.

"One or two small ones for hares, perhaps. There's not a decent bow on the estate except for this—and Cabera's."

"Good. Otherwise, they could pick us all off. We'll have to light the torches in the yard soon, to give them light to kill by. It will silhouette the men, but they can't fight in the dark, not this lot."

"They may surprise you, Renius. Your name has a lot of power still. Remember the crowds at the games? Every man here will have a story for all the generations of his family to come, if he survives."

Renius snorted. "You'd better get to the wall; there's a space on the far side."

Tubruk shook his head. "The others have accepted you as leader, I know. Even Julius will listen to you once his temper calms down. I will stay by Marcus, to protect him. With your permission?"

Renius stared at him. Would nothing work properly? Fat cooks, girls with knives, arrogant children? And now his orders were to be ignored just before a fight? His right fist lifted in a smashing uppercut that seemed to lift Tubruk up and backward. He hit the dust unmoving and Renius ignored him, turning to Cabera.

"When he awakes, tell him the boy can look after himself. I know. Tell him to take his place or I will kill him."

Cabera smiled, his eyes wide, but the old man's face was like winter. In the distance, there was a sudden clamor of metal beating on metal. Sound rose in a wave and chants filled the black night. The torches were lit just as the first few slaves reached the estate wall. Behind them were hundreds from Rome, burning everything in their path.