Читать книгу The Emperor Series Books 1-5 - Conn Iggulden - Страница 36

Gaius Julius Caesar smiled, despite the feeling of anxious weakness that fluttered in his stomach. With the help of Marius’ seamstress, he had sent servants off to buy and organise for most of the night. He’d known the ceremony would have to be simple and was astonished at so many members of the nobilitas in attendance on a cold morning. The senators had come, bringing families and slaves to the temple of Jupiter. Every glance that met his was followed by a smile, and the soft odours of flowers and burning scentwood was strong in the air. Marius and Metella were there at the entrance of the marble temple and Metella was dabbing tears from her eyes. Gaius nodded to them both nervously as he waited for his bride to arrive. He twitched the sleeves of his marriage robe, cut low around his neck to reveal a single amethyst on a slender gold chain.

He wished Marcus was there. It would have helped to have someone who really knew him. Everyone else was part of the world he was growing into: Tubruk, Cabera, Marius, even Cornelia herself. With a pang, he realised that to make it all seem real, he needed someone there who could meet his eye and know the whole journey to that point. Instead, Marcus was away in foreign lands, the wild adventurer he always wanted to be. By the time he returned, the wedding day would just be a memory that he could never share.

It was cool in the temple and for a moment Gaius shivered, feeling his skin prickle as the hairs stood up. He was in a room full of people who didn’t know him.

If his father had lived, he could have turned to him as they all waited for Cornelia. They could have shared a smile, or a wink that said, ‘Look what I’ve done.’

Gaius felt tears come into his eyes and he looked up at the domed ceiling, willing them not to spill onto his face. His father’s funeral had been the end of his mother’s moments of peace. Tubruk had shaken his head when Gaius asked if she was able to come. The old gladiator loved her as much as anyone, he knew. Perhaps he always had.

Gaius cleared his throat and dragged his thoughts back to the moment. He had to put childhood behind him. There were many friends in the room, he told himself. Tubruk was like an uncle with his gruff affection and Marius and Metella seemed to have accepted him without reserve. Marcus should have been there. He owed him that.

Gaius hoped Cinna would be pleasant. He had not spoken to the man since formally asking for Cornelia’s hand to be passed from father to husband. It had not been a happy meeting, though the senator had kept his dignity for her sake. At least he had been generous with the dowry for Cornelia. Cinna had handed him the deeds to a large town house in a prosperous area of Rome. With slaves and guards as part of the gift, Gaius had felt a worry ease from him. She would be safe now, no matter what happened. He frowned. He would have to get used to the new name, casting off the old with the other trappings of youth. Julius. His father’s name. It had a good sound to the ear, though he guessed he would always be Gaius to those he had known as a boy. His father had not lived to see him adopt his adult name and that saddened him. He wondered if the old man could see his only son and hoped so, wishing for just that one more moment to share pride and love.

He turned and smiled weakly at Cabera, who regarded him with a sour expression, his thinning hair still tousled from being roused at what he considered an ungodly hour. He too was dressed in a new brown robe to mark the occasion, adorned with a simple pewter brooch, a design of a fat-faced moon standing proud on the metal. Julius recognised it as Alexandria’s work and smiled at Cabera, who scratched an armpit vigorously. Julius kept smiling and after a few seconds, the ancient features cracked in cheerful response, despite his worries.

The future was dark to Cabera as it always was when he was a part of a particular destiny. The old man felt afresh the irritation at only being able to sense the paths that had little bearing on his own life, but even the scratch of his misgivings couldn’t prevent him taking pleasure in the youthful joy he felt coming from Julius like a warm wave.

There was something wonderful about a wedding, even one as quickly arranged as this one. Everyone was happy and for at least this little while the problems to come could be forgotten, or at least ignored until dark.

Julius heard footsteps sound on the marble behind him and he turned to see Tubruk leaving his seat to approach the altar. The estate manager looked his usual self, strong, brown and healthy, and Julius clasped his arm, feeling it as an anchor in the world.

‘You looked a bit lost up here. How are you feeling?’ Tubruk asked.

‘Nervous. Proud. Amazed so many turned up.’

Tubruk looked with fresh interest at the crowd and turned back with eyebrows raised.

‘Most of the power in Rome is in this room. Your father would be proud of you. I’m proud of you.’ He paused for a moment, unsure of whether to continue. ‘Your mother did want to come, but she was just too weak.’

Julius nodded and Tubruk punched his arm affectionately before going back to his seat a few rows behind.

‘In my village, we just take a girl by the hair and pull her into our hut,’ Cabera muttered, shocking the priest out of his beatific expression. Seeing this, the old man went on cheerfully: ‘If it didn’t work, you’d give her father a goat and grab one of her sisters. Much simpler that way – no hard feelings and free goat milk for the father. I had a herd of thirty goats when I was a lad, but I had to give most of them away, leaving me without enough to support myself. Not a wise decision, but difficult to regret, no?’

The priest had flushed at these casual references to barbarian practices, but Julius only chuckled.

‘You old fraud. You just like to shock these upright Roman citizens.’

Cabera sniffed loudly.

‘Maybe,’ he admitted, remembering the trouble he’d caused when he had tried to offer his last goat upfront for a night of pleasure. It had seemed like sense at the time, but the girl’s father had taken a spear from his wall and chased the young Cabera up into the hills where he had to hide for three days and nights.

The priest eyed Cabera with distaste. He was nobilitas himself, but in his religious role wore a cream toga with a hood that left only his face bare. He waited patiently for the bride with the others. Julius had explained that the ceremony must be as simple as possible because his uncle would want to leave at the earliest moment. The priest had scratched his chin in obvious annoyance at this, before Julius slipped a small pouch of coins into his robe as an ‘offering’ to the temple. Even the nobilitas had bills and debts. It would be a short service. After Cornelia was brought in to be given away by her father, there would be prayers to Jupiter, Mars and Quirinus. An augur had been paid gold to predict wealth and happiness for them both. The vows would follow and Julius would put a simple gold ring on her finger. She would be his wife. He would be her husband. He felt sweat dampen his armpits and tried to shrug away the nervousness.

He turned again and looked straight into the eyes of Alexandria as she stood in a simple dress, wearing a brooch of silver. There were tears sparkling in her gaze, but she nodded at him and something eased within.

Soft music began at the back, swelling to fill the vaulted ceiling like the incense smoke that spilled from the censers. Julius looked round and caught his breath and everything else was forgotten.

Cornelia was there, standing tall and straight in a cream dress and thin golden veil, her hand on the arm of her father, who was clearly unable to keep a beaming smile from his face. Her hair had been tinted darker, and her eyes seemed of the same warm colour. At her throat was a ruby the size of a bird’s egg, held in gold against the lighter tone of her skin. She looked beautiful and fragile. There was a small wreath on the crest of her head, made from verbena and sweet marjoram flowers. He could smell their scent as Cornelia and her father approached. Cinna let go of her arm as they reached Julius, remaining a pace behind.

‘I pass Cornelia into your care, Gaius Julius Caesar,’ he said formally.

Julius nodded. ‘I accept her into my care.’ He turned to her and she winked at him.

As they knelt, he caught again the scent of flowers from her and couldn’t stop himself glancing over to her bowed head. He wondered if he would have loved her if he hadn’t known Alexandria, or if he had met her before he had gone to the houses where women could be bought for a night or even an hour. He hadn’t been ready for this, not back then, a year and a lifetime ago. The prayers were a peaceful murmur over their heads and he was content. Her eyes were soft as summer darkness.

The rest of the ceremony went in a blur for him. The simple vows were spoken – ‘Where you go, there go I.’ He knelt under the priest’s hands for what seemed like eternity and then they were out in the sunshine and the crowd was cheering and shouting, ‘Felicitas!’ and Marius was bidding him goodbye with a great clap on his back.

‘You’re a man now, Julius. Or she will make you one very soon!’ he said loudly, with a twinkle in his eye. ‘You have your father’s name. He would be proud of you.’

Julius returned the grip strongly. ‘Do you want me on the walls now?’

‘I think we can spare you for a few hours. Report to me at four this afternoon. Metella will have finished crying about then, I think.’

They grinned at each other like boys and Julius was left in a space for a moment, alone with his bride in a crowd of well-wishers. Alexandria walked up to him and he smiled, suddenly nervous. Her dark hair was bound with wire and the sight of her made his throat feel tight. There was so much history in those dark eyes.

‘That’s a beautiful brooch you are wearing,’ he said.

She reached up and tapped it with her hand.

‘You’d be surprised at how many people have asked about it this morning. I already have some orders.’

‘Business on my wedding day!’ he exclaimed and she nodded without embarrassment.

‘May the gods bless your house,’ she said formally.

She moved away and he turned to find Cornelia looking at him quizzically. He kissed her.

‘She is very beautiful. Who is she?’ she said, her voice betraying a touch of worry.

‘Alexandria. She is a slave at Marius’ house.’

‘She doesn’t act like a slave,’ Cornelia replied, dubiously.

Julius laughed. ‘Do I hear jealousy?’

Cornelia did not smile and he took her hands gently in his.

‘You are all I want. My beautiful wife. Come to our new home and I’ll show you.’

Cornelia relaxed as he kissed her, deciding to find out everything she could about the slave girl with the jewellery.

The new house was bare of furniture, or slaves. They were the only ones there and their voices echoed. The bed was a present from Metella, made of carved, dark wood. At least there was a mattress over the slats, and soft linen.

For a few minutes, they seemed clumsy, self-conscious with the weight of the new titles.

‘I think you might remove my toga, wife,’ Julius said, his voice light.

‘I shall, husband. You could unbind my hair, perhaps.’

Then their old passion returned and the clumsiness was forgotten through the afternoon, as the heat built outside.

Julius panted, his hair wet with perspiration. ‘I will be tired out tonight,’ he said between breaths.

A light frown creased Cornelia’s forehead. ‘You’ll be careful?’

‘Not at all, I shall throw myself into conflict. I may start a battle myself, just to impress you.’

Her fingers traced a line down his chest, dimpling the smooth skin. ‘You could impress me in other ways,’

He groaned. ‘Not right now I can’t, but give it a little time.’

Her eyes glinted mischievously as she moved her delicate fingers.

‘I might be too impatient to wait. I think I can awake your interest.’

After a few moments, he groaned again, crumpling the sheets under his clenching fists.

At four o’clock, Julius was hammering at the barracks door, only to be told the general was back up on the walls, walking section after section. Julius had exchanged his toga for a legionary’s simple uniform of cloth and leather. His gladius was held to his belt and he carried a helmet under one arm. He felt slightly light-headed after the hours spent with Cornelia, but he found he was able to leave that longing in a compartment inside himself. He would return to her as the young lover, but at that moment he was a soldier, nephew of Marius, trained by Renius himself.

He found Marius talking to a group of his officers and stood a few paces away, looking over the preparations. Marius had split his legion into small mobile groups of sixteen men, each with assigned tasks, but more flexible than having each century man the wall. All the scouts reported Sulla making a straight line for the city, with no attempt to feint or confuse. It looked as if Sulla was going to risk a direct attack, but Marius still suspected some other plan to make itself evident as the army hove into view. He finished giving his final orders and gripped hands with each of his officers before they went to their posts. The sun had dropped past the zenith point and there were only a few hours until evening began.

He turned to his nephew and grinned at the serious expression.

‘I want you to walk the wall with me, as fresh eyes. Tell me anything you could improve. Watch the men, their expressions, the way they hold themselves. Judge their morale.’

Julius still looked grim and Marius sighed in exasperation.

‘And smile, lad. Raise their spirits.’ He leaned in closer. ‘Many of these men will be dead by morning. They are professionals, but they will still know fear. Some won’t be happy about facing our own people in war, though I have tried to have the worst of those moved back from the first assault wall. Say a few words to as many as you can, not long conversations, just notice what they are doing and compliment them on it. Ask them their names and then use the name in your reply to them. Ready?’

Julius nodded, straightening his spine. He knew that the way he presented himself to others affected how they saw him. If he strode in with shoulders and spine straight, men would take him seriously. He remembered his father telling the boys how to lead soldiers.

‘Keep your head high and don’t apologise unless you absolutely have to. Then do it once, loudly and clearly. Never whine, never plead, never gush. Think before you speak to a man and, when you have to, use few words. Men respect the silent; they despise the garrulous.’

Renius had taught him how to kill a man as quickly and efficiently as possible. He was still learning how to win loyalty.

They walked slowly along a section of wall, stopping and speaking to each soldier and spending a few minutes longer with the leader of the section, listening to ideas and suggestions and complimenting the men on their readiness.

Julius caught glances and held them as he nodded. The soldiers acknowledged him, tension evident. He stopped by one barrel-chested little man adjusting a powerful metal crossbow, set into the stone of the wall itself.

‘What’s the range?’

The soldier saluted smartly.

‘With the wind behind you, three hundred paces, sir.’

‘Excellent. Can the machine be aimed?’

‘A little, nothing precise at the moment. The workshop is working on a moving pedestal.’

‘Good. It looks a deadly thing indeed.’

The soldier smiled proudly and wiped a rag over the winch mechanism that would wind the heavy arms back to their locking slot.

‘She, sir. Something as dangerous as this has to be female.’

Julius chuckled as he thought of Cornelia and his aching muscles.

‘What is your name, soldier?’

‘Trad Lepidus, sir.’

‘I will look to see how many of the enemy she takes down, Lepidus.’

The man smiled again.

‘Oh, it will be a few, sir. No one is coming into my city without the permission of the general, sir.’

‘Good man.’

Julius moved on, feeling a touch more confidence. If all the men were as steadfast as Trad Lepidus, there couldn’t be an army in the world that could take Rome. He caught up with his uncle, who was accepting a drink from a silver flask and spluttering over the contents.

‘Sweet Mars! What’s in this, vinegar?’

The officer fought not to smile.

‘I dare say you are used to better vintages, sir. The spirit is a little raw.’

‘Raw! Mind you, it is warming,’ Marius said, tilting the flask up once more. Finally, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Excellent. Send a chit to the quartermaster in the morning. I think a small flask for officers would be just the thing against the chill of winter’s nights.’

‘Certainly, sir,’ the man replied, frowning slightly as he tried to calculate the profits he would make as the sole supplier to his own legion. The answer obviously pleased him and he saluted smartly as Julius passed.

Finally, Marius reached the flight of stone steps down to the street that marked the end of the section. Julius had spoken or nodded or listened to every one of a hundred or so soldiers on that part of the wall. His facial muscles felt stiff and yet he felt a touch of his uncle’s pride. These were good men and it was a great thing to know they were ready to lay down their lives at your order. Power was a seductive thing and Julius enjoyed the reflected warmth of it from his uncle. He felt a mounting excitement as he waited with his city for Sulla to arrive and darkness to come.

Narrow wooden towers had been placed at intervals all round the city. As the sun set, a lookout shouted from one and the word was passed at a fierce speed. The enemy were on the horizon, marching towards the city. The gates were closed against them.

‘At last! The waiting was chafing on me,’ Marius bellowed, charging out of his barracks as the warning horns were sounded across the city, long wailing notes.

The reserves took their positions. Those few Romans still on the streets ran for their homes, bolting and barricading their doors against the invaders. The people cared little for who ruled the city as long as their families were safe.

The Senate meetings had been postponed that day and the senators too were in their palatial houses, dotted around the city. Not one of them had taken the roads to the west, though a few had sent their families away to country estates rather than leave them at risk. A few rose with tight smiles, standing at balconies and watching the horizon as the horns moaned across the darkening city. Others lay in baths or beds and had slaves ease muscles that tightened from fear. Rome had never been attacked in its history. They had always been too strong. Even Hannibal had preferred to meet Roman legions on the field rather than to assault the city itself. It had taken a man like Scipio to take his head and that of his brother. Would Marius have the same ability, or would it be Sulla that held Rome in his bloody hand at the end? One or two of the senators burned incense at their private altars for their household gods. They had supported Marius as he tightened his grip on Rome, forced to take his side in public. Many had staked their lives on his success. Sulla had never been a forgiving man.