Emperor: The Gates of Rome E#1 (37 page)

Cornelia nodded.

"My beautiful girl," he said, gathering her in again, but carefully.

"You will be a grandfather," she whispered into his ear.

"Cornelia," he said. "You must come now. My house is safer than this. Why take such a risk? Come home."

The word was so powerful. She wanted to let him take her to safety, wanted very much to be a little girl again, but could not. She shook her head, smiling tightly to try to take away the sting of rejection.

"Leave more guards if it will make you feel happy, but this is my home now. My child will be born here, and when Julius is able to return to the city, he will come here first."

"What if he has been killed?"

She closed her eyes against the sudden stab of pain, feeling tears sting under the lids. "Father, please.. .Julius
will
come back to me. I... I am sure of it."

"Does he know about the child?"

She kept her eyes closed, willing the weakness to pass. She would not start sobbing, though part of her wanted to bury her head in her father's chest and let him carry her away.

"Not yet."

Cinna sat on a bench next to a trickling pool in the garden. He remembered the conversations with the architect when he had been readying the house for his daughter. It seemed such a long time ago. He sighed.

"You defeat me, girl. What will I tell your mother?"

Cornelia sat next to him. "You will tell her that I am well and happy and going to give birth in about seven months. You will tell her that I am preparing my home for the birth, and she will understand that. I will send messengers to you when the streets are quiet again and... that we have enough food and are in good health. Simple."

Her fathers voice was cracking slightly as he tried to find a note of firmness. "This Julius had better be a good husband to you—and a good father. I will have him whipped if he isn't. Should have done it when I heard he was running about on my roof after you."

Cornelia wiped a hand over her eyes, pressing the worry back inside her. She forced herself to smile. "There's no cruelty in you, Father, so don't try and pretend there is."

He grimaced, and the silence stretched for long moments.

"I will wait another two days and then I will have my guards take you home."

Cornelia pressed a hand on her father's arm. "No. I am not yours anymore. Julius is my husband and he will expect me to be here."

Then the tears could no longer be held back and she began to sob. Cinna pulled her to him and embraced her tightly.

Sulla frowned as his men raced to secure the main streets, which would give them access to the great forum and the heart of the city. After the first bloody scramble, the battle for Rome had gone well for him, with area after area taken with quick, brutal skirmishes and then held against an enemy in disarray. Before the sun had risen fully, most of the lower east quarter of Rome was under his control, creating a large area in which they could rest and regroup. Then tactical problems had arisen. With his controlled areas expanding in a line, he had fewer and fewer men to hold the border and knew he was always in danger from any sort of attack that massed men against a section where his were spread thinly.

Sulla's advance slowed and orders flowed ever more swiftly from him, moving units around or making them hold. He knew he had to have a secure base before he asked for any kind of surrender. After Marius's last words to them, Sulla accepted that there was a chance his soldiers would fight to the last man—their loyalty was legendary even in a system where such loyalty was fostered and nurtured. He had to make them lose hope, and a slowing advance would not do that.

Now he was standing in an open square at the top of the Caelius hill. All the massed streets behind him back to the Caelimontana gate were his. The fires had been put out and his legion was entrenched from there all the way to Porta Raudusculana at the southern tip of the city walls.

In the small square were nearly a hundred of his men, split into groups of four. Each man had volunteered and he was touched by it. Was this what Marius felt when his men offered their lives for him?

"You have your orders. Keep moving and cause havoc. If you are outnumbered, get away until you can attack again. You are my luck and the luck of the legion. Gods speed you."

As one, they saluted him and he returned it, his arm stiff. He expected most to be dead within the hour. If it had been night, they would have been more useful, but in the bright daylight they were little better than a distraction. He watched the last group of four squeeze through the barricade and hare off along a side street.

"Have Marius's body wrapped and placed in cool shadow," Sulla said to a nearby soldier. "I cannot say when I will have the leisure to organize a proper funeral for him."

A sudden flight of arrows was launched from two or three streets away. Sulla watched the arc with interest, noting the most likely site for the archers and hoping a few of his four-man squads were in the area. The black shafts passed overhead and then all around them, shattering on the stone of the courtyard Sulla had adopted as a temporary command post. One of his messengers dropped with a barbed arrow through his chest, and another screamed, though he seemed not to have been touched. Sulla frowned.

"Guard. Take that messenger somewhere close and flog him. Romans don't scream or faint at the sight of blood. Make sure I can see a little of his on his back when you return."

The guard nodded and the messenger was borne away in silence, terrified lest his punishment be increased.

A centurion ran up and saluted. "General. This area is secure. Shall I sound the slow advance?"

Sulla stared at him. "I chafe at the pace we are setting. Sound the charge for this section. Let the others catch us up as they may."

"We will be exposed, sir, to flanking attacks," the man stammered.

"Question an order of mine again in war and I will have you hanged like a common criminal."

The man paled and spun to give the order.

Sulla ground his teeth in irritation. Oh, for an enemy who would meet him on an open field. This city fighting was unseen and violent. Men ripping each other with blades out of sight in distant alleyways. Where were the glorious charges? The singing battle weapons? But he would be patient and he would eventually grind them down to despair. He heard the charge horn sound and saw his men lift their barricades and prepare to carry them forward. He felt his blood quicken with excitement. Let them try to flank him, with so many of his squads mingling out there to attack from behind.

He smelled fresh smoke on the air and could see flames lick from high windows in the streets just ahead. Screams sounded above the eternal clash of arms, and desperate figures climbed out onto stone ledges, thirty, forty feet above the sprawling melee below. They would die on the great stones of the roadways. Sulla saw one woman lose her grip and fall headfirst onto the heavy curb. It broke her into a twisted doll. Smoke swirled in his nostrils. One more street and then another.

His men were moving quickly.

"Forward!" he urged, feeling his heart beat faster.

Orso Ferito spread a map of Rome on a heavy wooden table and looked around at the faces of the centurions of the First-Born.

"The line I have marked is how much territory Sulla has under his control. He fights on an expanding line and is vulnerable to a spear-point attack at almost any part of it. I suggest we attack here and here at the same time." He indicated the two points on the map, looking round at the other men in the room. Like Orso, they were tired and dirty. Few had slept more than an hour or two at a time in the previous three-day battle, and like their men, they were close to complete exhaustion.

Orso himself had been in command of five centuries when he had witnessed Marius's murder at the hands of Sulla. He had heard his general's last shout and he still burned with rage when he thought of smug Sulla shoving a blade into a man Orso loved more dearly than his own father.

The following day had been chaos, with hundreds dying on both sides. Orso had kept control over his own men, launching short and bloody attacks and then withdrawing before reserves could be brought up. Like many of Marius's men, he was not highborn and had grown up on the streets of Rome. He understood how to fight in the roads and alleys he had scrambled along as a boy, and before dawn on the second day he had emerged as the unofficial leader of the First-Born.

His influence was felt immediately as he began to coordinate the attacks and defenses. Some streets Orso would let go as strategically unimportant. He ordered the occupants out of houses, set the fires, and had his men withdraw under arrow cover. Other streets they fought for again and again, concentrating their available forces on preventing Sulla from breaking through. Many had been lost, but the headlong rush into the city had been slowed and stopped in many areas. It would not be over quickly now, and Sulla had a fight on his hands.

Whatever Orso's mother had called him, he had always been Orso, the bear, to his men. His squat body and most of his face was covered in black, wiry hair, right up onto his cheeks. His slab-muscled shoulders were matted with dried blood, and like the others in the room who had been forced to give up their Roman taste for cleanliness, he stank of smoke and old sweat.

The meeting room had been chosen at random, a kitchen in someone's town house. The group of centurions had walked in off the street and spread the map out. The owner was upstairs somewhere. Orso sighed as he looked at the map. Breakthroughs were possible, but they would need the luck of the gods to beat Sulla. He looked around at the faces at the table again and was hard put not to wince at the hope he saw reflected there. He was no Marius, he knew that. If the general had remained alive to be in this room, they would have had a fighting chance. As it was...

"They have no more than twenty to fifty men at any given point on the line. If we break through quickly, with two centuries at each position, we should be able to cut them to pieces before reinforcements arrive."

"What then? Go for Sulla?" one of the centurions asked. Marius would have known his name, Orso acknowledged to himself.

"We can't be sure where that snake has positioned himself. He is quite capable of setting up a command tent as a decoy for assassins. I suggest we pull straight back out, leaving a few men in civilian clothes to watch for an opportunity to take him."

"The men won't be pleased. It is not a crushing victory and they want one."

Orso snapped back his ire. "The men are legionaries of the finest damn legion in Rome. They will do as they're told. This is a game of numbers, if it is a game at all. They have more. We control similar ground with far fewer men. They can reinforce faster than we can and... they have a far more experienced commander. The best we can do is to destroy a hundred of their men and pull out, losing as few of ours as possible. Sulla still has the same problem of defending a lengthening line."

"We have the same problem, to some extent."

"Not half as badly. If they break through, it is into the vast city, where they can be flanked with ease and cut off. We are still in control of the larger area by far. When we break their line, it will be straight into the heart of their territory."

"Where they have their men, Orso. I am not convinced your plan will work," the man continued.

Orso looked at him. "What is your name?"

"Bar Gallienus, sir."

"Did you hear what Marius called out before he was killed?"

The man reddened slightly. "I did, sir."

"So did I. We are defending our city and her inhabitants from an illegal invader. My commander is dead. I have assumed temporary command until the current crisis is over. Unless you have something useful to add to the discussion, I suggest you wait outside and I'll let you know when we are finished. Is that clear?" Although Orso's voice remained calm and polite throughout the exchange, all the men in the room could feel the anger coming off him like a physical force. It took a little courage not to edge away.

Bar Gallienus spoke quietly. "I would like to stay."

Orso clapped a hand on his shoulder and looked away from him. "Anything we have that can launch a missile, including every man with a bow, will mass at those two points, one hour from now. We will hit them with everything and then two centuries will charge their defenses on my signal. I will lead the attack through the old market area, as I know it well. Bar Gallienus will lead the other. Any questions?"

There was silence at the table. Gallienus looked Orso in the eye and nodded his agreement.

"Then gather your legionaries, gentlemen. Let's make the old man proud. 'Marius' is the shout. The signal will be three short blasts. One hour."

Sulla stepped back from the bloodied men panting in front of him. Of the hundred he had sent into the fray hours before, only eleven had made it back to report, and these were wounded, every one.

"General. The mobile squads were only partially successful," a soldier said, trying hard to stand erect over the weakness of his heaving lungs. "We did a lot of damage in the first hour and at a guess took down more than fifty of the enemy in small skirmishes. Where possible, we caught them alone or in pairs and overwhelmed them as you suggested. Then the word must have gone out and we found ourselves being tracked through the streets. Whoever was directing them must know the city very well. Some of us took to the roofs, but there were men waiting up there." He paused for breath again and Sulla waited impatiently for the man to calm himself.