Читать книгу The Emperor Series Books 1-4 - Conn Iggulden - Страница 54

Sulla smiled and drank deeply from a silver goblet. His cheeks were flushed with the effects of the wine and his eyes frightened Cornelia as she sat on the couch he had provided.

His men had collected her in the heat of the afternoon, when she felt the heaviness of her pregnancy most painfully. She tried to hide her discomfort and fear of the Dictator of Rome, but her hands shook slightly on the lip of the cup of cool white wine he had offered her. She sipped sparingly to please him, wanting nothing more than to be out of his gilded chambers and back in the safety of her own home.

His eyes watched her every move and she could not hold the gaze as the silence stretched between them.

‘Are you comfortable?’ he asked, and there was a slurred edge to his words that sent a thrill of panic coursing through her.

Be calm, she told herself. The child will feel your fear. Think of Julius. He would want you to be strong.

When she spoke, her voice was almost steady.

‘Your men have thought of everything. They were very courteous to me, though they did not say why you desired my presence.’

‘Desired? What a strange choice of word,’ he replied softly. ‘Most men would never use the word for a woman, what, weeks from giving birth?’

Cornelia looked at him blankly and he emptied his cup, smacking his lips together with pleasure. He rose from his seat without warning, turning his back to her as he refilled his cup from an amphora, letting the stopper fall and roll on the marble floor unheeded.

She watched it spiral and come to rest, as if hypnotised. As it became still, he spoke again, his voice languid and intimate.

‘I have heard that a woman is never more beautiful than when she is pregnant, but that is not always true, is it?’

He stepped closer to her, gesturing with the cup as he spoke, slopping drops over the rim.

‘I … do not know, sir, it…’

‘Oh, I have seen them. Rat-haired heifers that amble and bellow, their skin blotched and sweating. Common women, of common stock, whereas the true Roman lady, well …’

He pressed even closer to her and it was all she could do not to pull away from him. There was a glitter to his eyes and suddenly she thought of screaming, but who would come? Who would dare come?

‘The Roman lady is a ripe fruit, her skin glowing, her hair shining and lustrous.’

His voice was a husky murmur, and as he spoke he reached out and pressed his hand against the swelling of the child.

‘Please …’ she whispered, but he seemed not to hear. His hand trailed over her, feeling the heavy roundness.

‘Ah, yes, you have that beauty, Cornelia.’

‘Please, I am tired. I would like to go home now. My husband …’

‘Julius? A very undisciplined young man. He refused to give you up, did you know? I can see why, now.’

His fingers reached up to her breasts. Swollen and painful as they were at this late stage, they were held only loosely in the mamillare and she closed her eyes in helpless misery as she felt his hands easing over her flesh. Tears came swiftly into her eyes.

‘What a delicious weight,’ he whispered, his voice ugly with passion. Without warning, he bent and pressed his mouth on hers, shoving his fat tongue between her lips. The taste of stale wine made her gag in reflex and then he pulled away, wiping loose lips with the back of his hand.

‘Please don't hurt the baby,’ she said, her voice breaking. Tears streamed out and the sight of them seemed to disgust Sulla. His mouth twisted in irritation and he turned away.

‘Take yourself home. Your nose is running and the moment is spoiled. There will be another time.’

He filled his cup from the amphora yet again as she left the room, her sobs almost choking her and her eyes blind with shining tears.

* * *

Julius roared as his men charged into the small yard where Gaditicus fought the last of the rebels. As his legionaries hit the rebel flank, there was instant panic in the darkness and the Romans took advantage, bodies falling quickly, ripped apart by their swords. Within seconds, there were fewer than twenty facing the legionaries and Gaditicus shouted, his voice a bellow of authority.

‘Drop your weapons!’

A second of hesitation followed, then a clatter as swords and daggers fell to the tiles and the enemy were still at last, chests heaving, drenched in sweat, but beginning to feel that moment of joyous disbelief that comes when a man realises he has survived where others have fallen.

The legionaries moved to surround them, their faces hard.

Gaditicus waited until the rebels' swords had been taken and they stood in a huddled and sullen group.

‘Now, kill them all,’ he snapped and the legionaries threw themselves in one last time. There were screams, but it was over quickly and the small yard was quiet.

Julius breathed deeply, trying to clear his lungs of the smells of smoke and blood and opening bowels. He coughed and spat on the stone floor, before wiping his gladius on a body. The blade was nicked and scarred, almost useless. It would take hours to rub out the flaws and he would be better exchanging it quietly for another from the stores. His stomach heaved slightly and he concentrated even harder on the blade and the work to be done before they could return to Accipiter. He had seen bodies piled high before and it was that memory of the morning after his father's death that made him suddenly believe he could smell burning flesh in his nostrils.

‘I think that's the last of them,’ Gaditicus said. He was pale with exhaustion and stood bent over with his hands on his knees for support.

‘We'll wait for dawn before checking every doorway, in case a few more are hiding in the shadows.’ He rose straight, wincing as his back stretched and clicked. ‘Your men were late in support, Caesar. We were naked for a while.’

Julius nodded. He thought of saying what it had taken to get to the centurion at all, but kept his mouth tightly shut. Suetonius grinned at him. He was dabbing a cloth to a gash on his cheek. Julius hoped the stitches would hurt.

‘He was delayed rescuing me, Centurion,’ a voice said. The governor had recovered consciousness, leaning heavily on the shoulders of the two men carrying him. His hands were purple and impossibly swollen, hardly like hands at all.

Gaditicus took in the Roman style of the filthy toga, stiff with blood and dirt. The eyes were tired but the voice was clear enough, despite the broken lips.

‘Governor Paulus?’ Gaditicus asked. He saluted when the governor nodded.

‘We heard you were dead, sir,’ Gaditicus said.

‘Yes … it seemed that way to me for a while.’

The governor's head lifted and his mouth twisted in a slight smile.

‘Welcome to Mytilene fort, gentlemen.’

* * *

Clodia sobbed as Tubruk put his arm around her in the empty kitchens.

‘I don't know what to do,’ she said, her voice muffled by his tunic. ‘He's been at her and at her all through the pregnancy.’

‘Shhh … come on.’ Tubruk patted her back, trying to control the fear that had leapt in him when he first saw Clodia's dusty, tear-stained face. He didn't know Cornelia's nurse well, but what he had seen had given him an impression of a solid, sensible woman who would not be crying over nothing.

‘What is it, love? Come and sit down and tell me what's going on.’

He kept his voice as calm as he could, but it was a struggle. Gods, was the baby dead? It was due any time and childbirth was always risky. He felt coldness touch him. He had told Julius he would keep an eye on them while he was away from the city, but everything had seemed fine. Cornelia had been a little withdrawn in the last months, but many a young girl felt fear with the ordeal of her first birth ahead of her.

Clodia allowed herself to be guided to a bench next to the ovens. She sat without checking the seat for grease or soot, which worried Tubruk even further. He poured a cup of pressed apple juice for her and she gulped at it, her sobs subsiding to shudders.

‘Tell me the problem,’ Tubruk said. ‘Most things can be solved, no matter how bad they might seem.’

He waited patiently for her to finish drinking and gently took the cup from her limp hand.

‘It's Sulla,’ she whispered. ‘He's been tormenting Cornelia. She won't tell me all the details, but he has his men bring her to him at any time of the day or night, pregnant as she is, and she comes back in tears.’

Tubruk paled in anger.

‘Has he hurt her? Hurt the child?’ he pressed, stepping closer.

Clodia leaned away from his intensity, her mouth quivering with returning force.

‘Not yet, but every time is worse. She told me he is always drunk and he … places his hands on her.’

Tubruk closed his eyes briefly, knowing he had to remain calm. The only outward sign was a clenched fist, but when he spoke again, his eyes glittered dangerously.

‘Does her father know?’

Clodia took his arm in a sudden grip.

‘Cinna must not know! It would break him. He would not be able to meet Sulla in the Senate without accusations and he would be killed if he said anything in public. He cannot be told!’

Her voice rose higher as she spoke and Tubruk patted her hand reassuringly.

‘He won't learn it from me.’

‘I have no one else to turn to, but you, to help me protect her,’ Clodia said brokenly, her eyes pleading.

‘You've done right, love. She carries a child of this house. I need to know everything that has happened, do you understand? There must be no mistake in this. Do you see how important that is?’

She nodded, wiping her eyes roughly.

‘I hope so,’ he continued. ‘As the Dictator of Rome, Sulla is almost untouchable under the law. Oh, we could bring a case to the Senate, but not one of them would dare to argue the prosecution. It would mean death for anyone who tried. That is the reality of their precious “equal law”. And what is his crime? In law, nothing, but if he has touched her and frightened her, then the gods call for punishment even if the Senate would not.’

Clodia nodded again. ‘I understand that …’

‘You must understand,’ he interrupted sharply, his voice hard and low, ‘because it means that anything we do will be outside the law and if it is any sort of attack on the body of Sulla himself, then to fail would mean the deaths of Cinna, you, me, Julius' mother, servants, slaves, Cornelia and the child, everybody. Julius would be tracked down no matter where he hid.’

‘You will kill Sulla?’ Clodia whispered, moving closer.

‘If everything is as you say, I will certainly kill him,’ he promised, and for a moment, she could see the gladiator he had once been, frightening and grim.

‘Good, it is what he deserves. Cornelia will be able to put these dark months behind her and bear the child in peace.’ She dabbed at her eyes and some of the grief and worry eased from her visibly.

‘Does she know you have come to me?’ he asked quietly.

Clodia shook her head.

‘Good. Don't tell her what I have said. She is too close to birth for these fears.’

‘And … afterwards?’

Tubruk scratched the short crop of hair on the back of his head.

‘Never. Let her believe it was one of his enemies. He has enough of them. Keep it a secret, Clodia. He has supporters who will be calling for blood for years later if the truth comes out. One wrong word from you to another, who then tells a friend, and the guards will be at the gate to take Cornelia and the child away for torture before the next dawn.’

‘I will not tell,’ she whispered, holding his gaze for long seconds. At last, she looked away and he sighed as he sat on the bench next to her.

‘Now, start from the beginning and don't leave anything out. Pregnant girls often imagine things and before I risk everything I love, I need to be sure.’

They sat and talked for an hour in quiet voices. By the end, the hand she placed on his arm marked the beginning of a shy attraction, despite the ugliness of the subject they discussed.

‘I had intended to be on the next tide out to sea,’ Gaditicus had said sourly. ‘Not to take part in a parade.’

‘You believed me to be a corpse then,’ Governor Paulus had replied. ‘As I am battered but alive, I feel it necessary to show the support of Rome that stands with me. It will discourage … further attempts on my dignity.’

‘Sir, every young fighter on the whole island must have been holed up in that fort – and a fair few from the mainland as well. Half the families in the town will be grieving for the loss of a son or father. We have shown them well enough what disobedience to Rome means. They will not rebel again.’

‘You think not?’ Paulus had replied, smiling wryly. ‘How little you know these people. They have been fighting against their conquerors since Athens was the centre of the world. Now Rome is here and they fight on. Those who died will have left sons to take up arms as soon as they are able. It is a difficult province.’

Discipline had prevented Gaditicus from arguing further. He longed to be back at sea in Accipiter, but Paulus had insisted, even demanding four of the legionaries to stay with him permanently as guards. Gaditicus had nearly walked back to the ship at that order, but a few of the older men had volunteered, preferring the easier duty to pirate hunting.

‘Don't forget what happened to his last set of guards,’ Gaditicus had warned them, but it was a hollow threat, as well they knew after the rebels' pyre lifted a stream of black smoke high enough to be seen for miles. The job would take them safely to retirement.

Gaditicus cursed under his breath. He was going to be very short of good men for the next year. The old man Caesar had brought on board with him had turned out to be good with wounds, so a few of the injured might be saved from an early release and poverty. He wasn't a miracle worker though and some of the crippled ones would have to be put off at the next port, there to wait for a slow merchant ship to take them back to Rome. The galley century had lost a third of its men in Mytilene. Promotions would have to be made, but they couldn't replace twenty-seven dead in the fighting, fourteen of them competent hastati who had served on Accipiter for more than ten years.

Gaditicus sighed to himself. Good men lost just to smoke out a few young hotheads trying to live the stories their grandfathers told. He could imagine the speeches they had made, whereas the truth was that Rome brought them civilisation and a glimpse of what man could achieve. All they fought for was the right to live in mud huts and scratch their arses, did they but know it. He didn't expect them to be grateful, he had lived too long and seen too much for that, but he demanded their respect and the ill-planned mess at the fort had shown precious little of that. Eighty-nine enemy bodies had been burned at dawn. The Roman dead were carried back to the ship for burial at sea.

It was with such angry thoughts buzzing around in his head that he marched into the town of Mytilene in his best armour, with the rest of his depleted century shining behind him. Rain threatened in the form of dark, heavy clouds and the stiflingly hot air matched his mood perfectly.

Julius marched stiffly after the battering he had taken the night before. It amazed him how many small cuts and scrapes he had picked up without noticing. His chest was purple all down the left side and a shiny yellow lump stood out on one of his ribs. He would have Cabera look at it back on Accipiter, but he didn't think it was broken.

He disagreed with Gaditicus over the need for the march. The centurion was happy to break a rebellion and vanish, leaving someone else to handle the politics, but it was important to remind the town that the governor was not to be touched above all else.

He glanced over at Paulus, taking in the heavily bandaged hands and the still-swollen face. Julius admired him for refusing to be carried in a litter, determined to show himself unbeaten after his torture. Fair enough that the man wanted to come back to town at the head of an army. There were men like him all over Roman lands. They had little support from the Senate and were like small kings who nonetheless depended on the goodwill of the locals to make things happen as they wanted. When that goodwill failed, Julius knew a thousand things could make life very difficult. No wood or food delivered except at sword-point, roads damaged and property burnt. Nothing to turn out the guards for, but constant irritations, like burrs caught in the skin.

From what the governor said of the life, Paulus seemed to enjoy the challenges. Julius had been surprised to note that his main feeling was not anger at his ordeal, but sadness that people he had trusted had turned against him. Julius wondered if he would be so trusting in the future.

The legionaries marched through the town, ignoring the stares and sudden movement as mothers cleared playing children from their path. Most of the Romans were feeling the aches of the night before and were pleased to reach the governor's home in the centre. They formed a square in front of the building and Julius saw one of the benefits of the post Paulus held in the beauty of the white walls and ornamental pools. It was a piece of Rome, transplanted into the Greek countryside.

Paulus laughed aloud as his children came running to greet him. He went down on one knee, letting them embrace him while he kept his broken hands clear. His wife too came out and Julius could see tears in her eyes, even from the second rank. A lucky man.

‘Tesserarius Caesar, stand forward,’ Gaditicus ordered, startling Julius out of his thoughts. Julius moved quickly and saluted. Gaditicus looked him over, his expression unreadable.

Paulus disappeared into his home with his family and all the ranks waited patiently for him, happy enough to stand in the warmth of the afternoon sunshine with no jobs to be done.

Julius' mind churned, wondering why he had been ordered to stand out alone and how Suetonius would feel if it was a promotion. The governor was not able to order Gaditicus to give him a new post, but his recommendation was unlikely to be ignored.

At last Paulus returned, his wife walking out with him. He filled his lungs to address all the men together and his voice was warm and strong.

‘You have restored me to my position and my family. Rome thanks you for your service. Centurion Gaditicus has agreed that you may take a meal here. My servants are preparing my best food and drink for you all.’ He paused and his gaze fell on Julius.

‘I witnessed great bravery last night, from one man in particular who risked his own life to save mine. To him, I award the honour wreath, to mark his courage. Rome has brave sons and I stand here today to prove it.’

His wife stepped forward and lifted a circlet of green oak leaves. Julius unfroze and when Gaditicus nodded at him, removed his helmet to accept it. He blushed and suddenly the men cheered, though whether it was at the honour to one of their own or the food to come, he wasn't sure.

‘Thank you, I …’ he stammered.

Paulus' wife put her hand on his own and Julius could see where face paint had covered dark circles of worry under her eyes.

‘You brought him back to me.’

Gaditicus barked out the orders to remove helmets and follow the governor to where his staff were setting up the meal. He held Julius back for a moment and, when it was quiet, he asked to see the circlet. Julius handed it to him quickly, trying not to shout out loud with the excitement he felt.

Gaditicus turned the band of dark leaves over in his hands.

‘Do you deserve it?’ he asked quietly.

Julius hesitated. He knew he had risked his life and rushed two men on his own down in the lowest room of the fort, but it was a prize he had not expected.

‘Not more than a lot of the men, sir,’ he replied.

Gaditicus looked closely at him, then nodded, satisfied.

‘That's a good line, though I will say I was pleased to see you when you flanked the bastards last night.’ He grinned at Julius' rapidly changing expressions, from delight to embarrassment.

‘Will you wear it under your helmet, or perched on top?’

Julius felt flustered. ‘I … I hadn't thought. I suppose I will leave it on the ship if there's action.’

‘Are you sure, now? Pirates will run scared of a man with leaves on his head, perhaps?’

Julius flushed again and Gaditicus laughed, clapping him on the shoulder.

‘I'm only teasing you, lad. It is a rare honour. I'll have to promote you, of course. I can't have a lowly watch officer with an honour wreath. I will give you a twenty to command.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ Julius replied, his spirits lifting even further.

Gaditicus rubbed the leaves between his fingers thoughtfully.

‘You will have to wear this in the city some time. It will be expected of you, at least once.’

‘Why, sir? I don't know the ritual.’

‘It's what I would do, anyway. The laws of Rome, lad. If you walk into a public event with an honour wreath, everyone must stand. Everyone, even the Senate.’

The centurion chuckled to himself. ‘What a sight that would be. Come in when you're settled. I'll make sure they keep some wine for you. It looks like you could do with a drink.’