Читать книгу The Emperor Series Books 1-4 - Conn Iggulden - Страница 24

On the night before the Triumph the First-Born camp was anything but peaceful. Gaius sat around one of the campfires and sharpened a dagger that had belonged to his father. All around, the fires and noise of seven thousand soldiers and camp followers made the darkness busy and cheerful. They were camped in open country, less than five miles from the gates of the city. For the last week, armour had been polished, leather waxed, tears in cloth stitched. Horses were groomed until they shone like chestnuts. Marching drills had become tense affairs; mistakes were not tolerated and no one wanted to be left behind when they marched into Rome.

The men were all proud of Marius and themselves. There was no false modesty in the camp; they knew they and he deserved the honour.

Gaius stopped sharpening as Marcus came into the firelight and took a seat on a bench. Gaius looked into the flames and didn't smile.

‘What's the word?’ he said, angrily, without turning his head.

‘I leave at dawn tomorrow,’ Marcus replied. He too looked into the fire as he continued speaking. ‘This is for the best, you know. Marius has written a letter for me to take to my new century. Would you like to see it?’

Gaius nodded and Marcus passed a scroll over to him. He read:

I recommend this young man to you, Carac. He will make a first-rate soldier in a few years. He has a good mind and excellent reflexes. He was trained by Renius, who will accompany him to your camp. Give him responsibility as soon as he has proved he can handle it. He is a friend of my house.

Marius. Primigenia.

‘Fine words. I wish you luck,’ Gaius said bitterly as he finished, passing back the scroll.

Marcus snorted. ‘More than just fine words! Your uncle has given me my ticket into another legion. You don't understand what this means to me. Of course I would like to stay with you, but you will be learning politics in the Senate, then taking a high post in the army and the temples. I own nothing except my skills and my wits and the equipment Marius has given me. Without his patronage, I would be pushed to get a post as a temple guard! With it, I have a chance to make something of myself. Do you grudge it of me?’

Gaius turned to him, his anger surprising Marcus.

‘I know it's what you have to do, I just never saw myself tackling Rome alone. I always expected you to be with me. That is what friendship means.’

Marcus gripped his arm tightly.

‘You will always be my greatest friend. If ever you need me to be at your side, then call and I will come to you. You remember the pact before we came to the city? We look out for each other and we can trust each other completely. That is my oath and I have never broken it.’

Gaius did not look at him and Marcus let his hand fall away.

‘You can have Alexandria,’ Marcus said, attempting a noble expression.

Gaius gasped. ‘A parting gift? What a generous friend you are! You are too ugly for her, as she told me only yesterday. She only likes your company for the contrast. You make her look more beautiful when your monkey face is around.’

Marcus nodded cheerfully. ‘She does seem to want me only for sex. Perhaps you can read poetry to her while I run her through the positions.’

Gaius took a quick breath of indignation, then smiled slowly at his friend.

‘With you gone, I will be the one showing her the positions.’ He chuckled to himself at this, hiding his thoughts. What positions? He could only think of two.

‘You will be like a bullock after me, with all the practice I have been getting. Marius is a generous man.’

Gaius looked at his friend, trying to judge how much of his boasting was just that. He knew Marcus had proved a favourite with the slave girls of Marius' house and was rarely to be found in his own room after dark. As for himself, he didn't know what he felt. Sometimes he wanted Alexandria so much it hurt him and other times he wanted to be chasing the girls along the corridors as Marcus did. He did know that if he ever tried to force her as a slave, he would lose all that he found precious. A silver coin would buy him that kind of union. The idea that Marcus might have already enjoyed what he wanted made his blood thump in irritation.

Marcus broke in on these thoughts, his voice low. ‘You will need friends when you are older, men you can trust. We've both seen what sort of power your uncle has and I think both of us would like a taste of it.’

Gaius nodded.

‘Then what good will I be to you as a penniless son of a city whore? I can make my name and fortune in my new legion and then we can make real plans for the future.’

‘I understand. I remember our oath and I will stick to it.’ Gaius was silent for a moment, then shook his head to clear it of thoughts of Alexandria. ‘Where will you be stationed?’

‘I'm with the Fourth Macedonia, so Renius and I are going to Greece – the home of civilisation, they say. I'm looking forward to seeing alien lands. I have heard that the women run races without clothes on, you know. Makes the mind bulge a bit. Not just the mind, either.’ He laughed and Gaius smiled sickly, still thinking of Alexandria. Would she have given herself to him?

‘I'm glad Renius is your escort. It'll do him good to take his mind off his troubles for a while.’

Marcus grimaced. ‘True, though he won't be the best of company. He's been out of sorts ever since he turned up drunk at your uncle's, but I can understand why.’

‘If the slaves had burned my house down, I'd be a bit lost as well. They even took his savings, you know. Had them under the floor, he said, but they must have been found by looters. That was not a glorious chapter in our history, slaves stealing an old man's savings. Mind you, he's not really an old man any more, is he?’

Marcus looked sideways at him. They had never discussed it, but Gaius hadn't seemed to need telling.

‘Cabera?’ Gaius said, catching his eye.

Marcus nodded.

‘I thought so; he did something similar for me, when I was wounded. He is certainly a useful man to have around.’

‘I am glad he's staying with you. He has faith in your future. He should be able to keep you alive until I can come back, covered in glory and draped with beautiful women, all of whom will be the winners of foot-races.’

‘I might not recognise you underneath all that glory and those women.’

‘I'll be the same. I'm sorry I'll miss the Triumph tomorrow. It should really be something special. You know he has had silver coins printed with his face? He's going to throw them to the crowds in the streets.’

Gaius laughed. ‘Typical of my uncle. He likes to be recognised. He enjoys fame more than winning battles, I think. He's already paying the men with those coins so the money gets spread around Rome even faster. It should annoy Sulla at least, which is probably what he really wants.’

Cabera and Renius came out of the darkness and took up the spaces on Marcus' bench.

‘There you are!’ Renius said. ‘I was beginning to think I couldn't find you to say goodbye.’

Gaius noted again the fresh strength of the man. He looked no more than forty, or a well-preserved forty-five. His grip was like a trap as he put out his hand and Gaius took it.

‘We'll all meet again,’ Cabera said.

They looked at him.

He held his palms up and smiled. ‘It's not a prophecy, but I feel it. We haven't finished our paths yet.’

‘I'm glad you're staying, at least. With Tubruk back at the estate and these two off to Greece, I would be all on my own here,’ Gaius said, smiling a little shyly.

‘You look after him, you old scoundrel,’ Renius said. ‘I didn't go to all the trouble of training him to hear he's been kicked by a horse. Keep him away from bad women and too much drink.’ He turned to Gaius and held up a finger. ‘Train every day. Your father never let himself become soft and neither should you if you are to be of any use to our city.’

‘I will. What are you going to do when you have delivered Marcus?’

Renius' face darkened for a second.

‘I don't know. I don't have the funds to retire any more, so we'll see … It is in the hands of the gods as always.’

For a moment, they all looked a little sad. Nothing ever stayed the same.

‘Come on,’ he continued, gruffly. ‘Time for sleep. Dawn can't be more than a few hours away and we all have a long day ahead of us.’

They shook hands in silence for the last time and returned to their tents.

When Gaius awoke the following morning, Marcus and Renius were gone.

By him, folded carefully, was the toga virilis, a man's garment. He looked at it for a long time, trying to recall Tubruk's lessons on the correct way to wear one. A boy's tunic was so much simpler, and the low toga hem would become dirty very quickly. The message was clear in its simplicity: a man did not climb trees and throw himself through muddy rivers. Boyish pursuits were to be put behind him.

In daylight, the large ten-man tents could be seen stretching into the distance, the orderly lines showing the discipline of the men and their general. Marius had spent most of the month mapping out a six-mile route along the streets that ended, as before, at the Senate steps. The filth had been scrubbed from the stones of the roads, but they were still narrow, winding courses and the legion could get only six men or three horses across. There were going to be just under eleven hundred rows of soldiers, horses and equipment. After a lot of argument with his engineers, Marius had agreed to leave his siege weapons at the camp – there was just no way to get them around the tight corners. The estimate was that it would take three hours to complete the march and that was without hold-ups or mistakes of any kind.

By the time Gaius had washed, dressed and eaten, the sun was clear of the horizon and the great shining mass of soldiers was in position and almost ready to march. Gaius had been told to dress in a full toga and sandals and to leave his weapons in the camp. After so long carrying a legionary's tools, he felt a little defenceless without them, but obeyed.

Marius himself would be riding on a throne set atop a flat open carriage, pulled by a team of six horses. He would wear a purple toga, a colour that could only be worn by a general at the head of a Triumph. The dye was incredibly expensive, gathered from rare seashells and distilled. It was a garment to wear only once, and the colour of the ancient kings of Rome.

As he passed under the city gates, a slave would raise a gilded laurel wreath above his head and hold it there for the rest of the journey. Four words had to be whispered throughout the Triumph, cheerfully ignored by Marius: ‘Remember thou art mortal.’

The carriage had been put together by the legion engineers, made to fit perfectly between the street stepping stones. The heavy wooden wheels were shod with an iron band and the axles freshly greased. The main body had been gilded and shone in the morning sun as if made of pure gold.

As Gaius approached, the general was inspecting his troops, his expression serious. He spoke to many of the men and they answered him without moving their gaze from the middle distance.

At last, the general seemed satisfied and climbed up onto the carriage.

‘The people of our city will not forget this day. The sight of you will inspire the children to join the forces that keep us all safe. Foreign ambassadors will watch us and be cautious in their dealings with Rome, with the vision of our ranks always in their minds. Merchants will watch us and know there is something more in the world than making money. Women will watch us and compare their little husbands to the best of Rome! See your reflections in the eyes as we pass. You will give the people something more than bread and coin today; you will give them glory.’

The men cheered at the last and Gaius found himself cheering as well. He walked to the throned carriage and Marius saw him.

‘Where shall I stand, Uncle?’ he asked.

‘Up here, lad. Stand at my right shoulder, so that they will know you are beloved of my house.’

Gaius grinned and clambered on, taking position. He could see into the far distance from his new height and felt a thrill of anticipation.

Marius dropped his arm and horns sounded, echoing down the line to the far back. The legionaries took their first step on the hard-packed soil.

On each side of the great gold carriage, Gaius recognised faces from the first bloody trip to the Senate. Even on a day of rejoicing, Marius had his hand-picked men with him. Only a fool would risk a thrown knife with the legion in the streets; they would destroy the city in rage – but Marius had warned his men that there were always fools, and there were no smiles in the ranks.

‘To be alive on such a day is a precious gift of the gods,’ Marius said, his voice carrying.

Gaius nodded and rested his hand on the throne.

‘There are six hundred thousand people in the city and not one of them will be tending his business today. They have already begun lining the streets and buying seats at windows to cheer us through. The roads are strewn with fresh rushes, a carpet for us to walk on for each step of the six miles. Only the forum is being kept clear so that we can halt the whole five thousand in one block there. I shall sacrifice a bull to Jupiter and a boar to Minerva and then you and I, Gaius, we will walk into the Senate to attend our first vote.’

‘What is the vote about?’ Gaius asked.

Marius laughed. ‘A simple matter of officially accepting you into the ranks of the nobilitas and adulthood. In truth, it is only a formality. You have the right through your father, or, indeed, my sponsorship would do it. Remember, this city was built and is maintained on talent. There are the old houses, the pure-bloods; Sulla himself is from one such. But other men are there because they have dragged themselves up to power, as I have. We respect strength and cherish what is good for the city, regardless of the parentage.’

‘Are your supporters from the new men?’ Gaius asked.

Marius shook his head. ‘Strangely enough, no. They are often too wary of being seen to side with one of their own. Many of them support Sulla, but those who follow me are as often high-born as they are new wolves in the fold. The people's tribunes make a great show of being untouched by politics and take each vote as they find it, although they can always be depended on to vote for cheaper corn or more rights for the slaves. With their veto, they can never be ignored.’

‘Could they prevent my acceptance then?’

Marius chuckled. ‘Take off the worried look. They do not vote in internal matters, such as new members, only in city policy. Even if they did, it would be a brave man to vote against me with my legion standing thousands deep in the forum outside. Sulla and I are consuls – the supreme commanders of all the military might of Rome. We lead the Senate, not the other way around.’ He smiled complacently and called for wine, having the full cup handed to him.

‘What happens if you disagree with the Senate, or with Sulla?’ Gaius asked.

Marius snorted into his wine cup.

‘All too common. The people elect the Senate to make and enforce the laws – and to build the empire. They also elect the other, more senior posts: aediles, praetors and consuls. Sulla and I are here because the people voted for us and the Senate do not forget that. If we disagree, a consul may forbid any piece of legislation and its passage stops immediately. Sulla or I have only to say, “Veto” – I forbid it – as the speeches begin and that is the end for that year. We can also block each other in this way, although that does not happen often.’

‘But how does the Senate control the consuls?’ Gaius pressed, interested.

Marius took a deep draught of the wine and patted his stomach, smiling.

‘They could vote against me, even remove me from office in theory. In practice, my supporters and clients would prevent any such vote going through, so for the whole year, a consul is almost untouchable in power.’

‘You said a consul was only elected for one year and has to step down,’ Gaius said.

‘The law bends for strong men, Gaius. Each year, the Senate clamours for an exception to be made and I should be re-elected. I am good for Rome, you see – and they know it.’

Gaius felt pleased at the quiet conversation, or as quiet as the general ever managed, at least. He understood why his father had been wary of the man. Marius was like summer lightning – it was impossible to tell what he would strike next – but he had the city in the palm of his hand for the moment and Gaius had discovered that was where he too wanted to be: at the centre of things.

They could hear the roar of Rome long before they reached the gates. The sound was like the sea, a formless, crashing wave that engulfed them as they halted at the border tower. City guards approached the golden carriage and Marius stood to receive them. They too were polished and perfectly turned out and they had a formal air.

‘Give your name and state your business,’ one said.

‘Marius, general of the First-Born. I am here. I will hold a Triumph on the streets of Rome.’

The man flushed a little and Marius grinned.

‘You may enter the city,’ the guard said, stepping back and waving the gate open.

Marius leaned close to Gaius as he sat down again.

‘Protocol says I have to ask permission, but this is too fine a day to be polite to guards who couldn't cut it in the legions. Take us in.’ He signalled and again the horns blew all down the line. The gates opened and the crowd peered around, roaring in excitement. The noise crashed out at the legion and Marius' driver had to snap the reins sharply to make the horses move on.

The First-Born entered Rome.

‘You must get out of bed now if you want to be ready in time to see the Triumph! Everyone says it will be glorious and your father and mother are already dressed and with their attendants while you lie and drowse!’

Cornelia opened her eyes and stretched, careless of the covers falling away from her golden skin. Her nurse, Clodia, busied herself with the window hangings, parting them to air the room and letting sunshine spill in.

‘Look, the sun is high and you are not even dressed. It is shameless to find you without clothes. What if I was a male, or your father?’

‘He wouldn't dare come in. He knows I don't bother with nightclothes when it's hot.’

Still yawning, Cornelia rose naked from her bed and stretched like a cat, arching her back and pressing her fists into the air. Clodia crossed to the bedroom door and dropped the locking bar in case someone looked in.

‘I suppose you'll be wanting a dip in the bath before you dress,’ Clodia said, affection spoiling the attempt at a stern tone.

Cornelia nodded and padded through to the bathing room. The water steamed, reminding her that the rest of the house had been up and working since the first moments of dawn. She felt vaguely guilty, but that dissolved in the soothing heat as she swung a leg over the side and climbed in, sighing. It was a luxury she enjoyed, preferring not to wait until the formal bathing session later in the day.

Clodia bustled in after her, carrying an armful of warm linen. She was never still, a woman of immense energy. To a stranger, there was nothing in her dress or manner to indicate her slavery. Even the jewels she wore were real and she chose her clothes from a sumptuous wardrobe.

‘Hurry! Dry yourself with these and put on this mamillare.’

Cornelia groaned. ‘It binds me too tightly to wear on hot days.’

‘It will keep your breasts from hanging like empty bags in a few years.’ Clodia snorted. ‘You'll be pleased enough to have worn it then. Up! Out of that water, you lazy thing. There's a glass of water on the side to clean your mouth.’

As Cornelia dabbed her body dry, Clodia laid out her robes and opened a series of small silver boxes of paint and oils.

‘On with this,’ she said, dropping a long white tunic over Cornelia's outstretched arms. The girl shrugged herself into it and sat at the single table, propping up an oval bronze mirror to see herself.

‘I would like my hair to be curled,’ she said wistfully, holding a lock of it in her fingers. It was a dark gold, but straight for all its thickness.

‘Wouldn't suit you, Lia. And there's no time today. I should think your mother is already finished with her ornatrix and will be waiting for us. Simple, understated beauty is what we're after today.’

‘A little ochre on the lips and cheeks then, unless you want to paint me with that stinking white lead?’

Clodia blew air out of her lips in irritation.

‘It will be a few years before you need to conceal your complexion. What are you now, seventeen?’

‘You know I am, you were drunk at the feast,’ Cornelia replied with a smile, holding still while the colour was applied.

‘I was merry, dear, just as everybody else was. There is nothing wrong with a little drink in moderation, I have always said.’ Clodia nodded to herself as she rubbed in the colours.

‘Now a little powdered antimony around the eyes to make men think they are dark and mysterious and we can start on the hair. Don't touch it! Hands to yourself, remember, in case you smudge.’

Swiftly and dextrously, Clodia parted the dark-gold hair and gathered it into a chignon at the back, revealing the slender length of Cornelia's neck. She looked at the face in the mirror and smiled at the effect.

‘Why your father hasn't found a man for you, I will never know. You're certainly attractive enough.’

‘He said he'd let me choose and I haven't found anyone to like yet,’ Cornelia replied, touching the pins in her hair.

Clodia tutted to herself. ‘Your father is a good man, but tradition is important. He should find you a young man with good prospects and you should have a house of your own to run. I think you will enjoy that, somehow.’

‘I'll take you with me when that happens. I'd miss you if I didn't, like … a dress that is a bit old and out of fashion but still comfortable, you know?’

‘How beautifully you put your affection for me, my dear,’ Clodia replied, buffeting Cornelia's head with her hand as she turned away to pick up the robe.

It was a great square of gold cloth that hung down to Cornelia's knees. It had to be artfully arranged for the best effect, but Clodia had been doing it for years and knew Cornelia's tastes in the cut and style.

‘It is beautiful – but heavy,’ Cornelia muttered.

‘So are men, dear, as you will find out,’ Clodia replied with a sparkle in her eyes. ‘Now run to your parents. We must be early enough to have a good place to watch the Triumph. We're going to the house of one of your father's friends.’

‘Oh, Father, you should have lived to see this,’ Gaius whispered as they passed into the streets. The way ahead was dark green, with every spot of stone covered by rushes. The people too wore their best and brightest clothes, a surging throng of colour and noise. Hands were held out and hot, envious eyes watched them. The shops were all boarded shut, as Marius had said. It seemed the whole city had turned out for a holiday to see the great general. Gaius was astonished at the numbers and the enthusiasm. Did they not remember these same soldiers cutting themselves room on the forum only a month before? Marius had said they respected only strength and the proof was in their cheers, booming and echoing in the narrow streets. Gaius glanced to his right into a window and saw a woman of some beauty throwing flowers at him. He caught one and the crowd roared again in appreciation.

Not a soul pushed onto the road, despite the lack of soldiers or guards along the edge. The lesson of the last time had clearly been learned and it was as if there was an invisible barrier holding them back. Even the hard-faced men of Marius' own guard were grinning as they marched.

Marius sat like a god. He placed his massive hands on the arms of the golden throne and smiled at the crowd. The slave behind him raised the garland of gilded laurel over his head and the shadow fell on his features. Every eye followed his progress. His horses were trained for the battlefield and ignored the yelling people, even when some of the more daring landed flowers around their necks as well.

Gaius stood at the great man's shoulder as the ride went on and the pride he felt lifted his soul. Would his father have appreciated this? The answer was probably not and Gaius felt a pang of sorrow at that. Marius was right: just to be alive on this day was to touch the gods. He knew he would never forget it and could see in the eyes of the people that they too would store away the moments to warm them in the dark winters of years yet to pass.

Halfway along the route, Gaius saw Tubruk standing on a corner. As their eyes met, Gaius could feel all the history between them. Tubruk raised his arm in a salute and Gaius returned it. The men around Tubruk turned to look at him and wonder at his connection. He nodded as they passed and Gaius nodded back, swallowing down the catch in his throat. He was drunk with emotion and gripped the back of the throne to keep from swaying in the tide of cheering.

Marius gave a signal to two of his men and they climbed onto the carriage, holding soft leather bags. Hands were plunged into the dark recesses and came up glinting with fistfuls of silver coins. Marius' image went flying over the crowd and they screamed his name as they scrabbled for the metal in his wake. Marius too reached in and his fingers emerged dripping pieces of silver, spraying the coins high with a gesture and laughing as they fell and the crowd dipped to pick up the gifts. He smiled at their pleasure and they blessed him.

From a low window, Cornelia looked out over the bobbing mass of people, pleased to be clear of the crowds. She felt a thrill as Marius drew close on his throne and cheered with the rest. He was a handsome general and the city loved heroes.

There was a young man next to him, too young to be a legionary. Cornelia strained forward to get a better look. He was smiling and his eyes flashed blue as he laughed at something Marius said.

The procession came abreast of where Cornelia and her family watched. She saw coins go flying and the people rush to grab the pieces of silver. Her father, Cinna, sniffed at this.

‘Waste of money. Rome loves a frugal general,’ he said waspishly.

Cornelia ignored him, her gaze on Marius' companion. He was attractive and healthy-looking, but there was something else about him, about the way he held himself. There was an inner confidence and, as Clodia often said, there was nothing in the world so attractive as confidence.

‘Every mother in Rome will be after that young cockerel for their daughters,’ Clodia whispered at her elbow.

Cornelia blushed and Clodia's eyebrows shot up in surprise and pleasure.

The Triumph passed on for another two hours, but for Cornelia it was wasted time.

The colours and faces had blurred together, the men were heavily draped in flowers and the sun had reached noon by the time they began the entry to the forum. Marius signalled to his driver to put the carriage at the front, by the Senate steps. The space echoed as the hooves struck the stone slabs and the noise of the streets was slowly left behind. For the first time, Gaius could see Sulla's soldiers guarding the entrances to the plaza and the boiling mass of the crowds beyond.

It was almost peaceful after the colourful riot of the trip into the centre.

‘Stop her here,’ Marius said, and stood from the throne to watch his men come in. They were well drilled and formed tidy ranks, layer on layer from the furthest corner to the Senate steps, until the forum was full of the shining rows of his soldiers. No human voice could carry to every man so a horn gave the order to stand to attention and they crashed their feet together and down, making thunder. Marius smiled with pride. He gripped Gaius' shoulder.

‘Remember this. This is why we slog through battlefields a thousand miles from home.’

‘I could never forget today,’ Gaius replied honestly and the grip tightened for a moment before letting go.

Marius walked to where a white bull was held steady by four of his men. A great black-bristled boar was similarly held, but snorted and chafed against the ropes.

Marius accepted a taper and lit the incense in a golden bowl. His men bowed their heads and he stepped forward with his dagger, speaking softly as he cut the two throats.

‘Bring us all through war and pestilence, safe home to our city,’ he said. He wiped the blade on the skin of the bull as it sank to its knees, bawling its fear and pain. Sheathing the dagger, he put an arm around Gaius' shoulder and together they walked up the wide white steps of the Senate building.

It was the seat of power in all the world. Columns that could not be girdled by three large men holding their arms outstretched supported a sloping roof that was itself mounted with distant statues. Bronze doors that dwarfed even Marius stood closed at the top of the steps. Made of interlocking panels, they looked as if they were designed to stand against an army, but as the pair ascended, the doors opened silently, pulled from within. Marius nodded and Gaius swallowed his awe.

‘Come, lad, let us go and meet our masters. It would not do to keep the Senate waiting.’