Читать книгу The Emperor Series Books 1-5 - Conn Iggulden - Страница 63

Brutus stood at the crossroads at the base of the Quirinal hill and let the bustling crowd pass around him. He had risen early and checked his armour, thankful for the clean undertunic Tubruk had laid out. Some part of him knew it was ridiculous to care, but he had oiled each segment and polished the metal until it shone. He felt garish in the darker colours of the crowd, but he took comfort from the solid weight, as if it protected him from more than weapons.

The Bronze Fist had their own armourer, and like everyone else in the century, he had been the best. The greave Brutus wore on his right leg was skilfully shaped to follow the muscles. It was inscribed with a pattern of circles cut with acid and Brutus had given a month’s pay for it. Sweat trickled behind the metal sheath and he reached down to try and scratch the skin beneath without success. Practicality had made him leave the plume of his helmet back at the estate. It would not do to be catching it on lintels inside the house where his mother lived.

It was the sight of the building that had made him pause and take stock. He had been expecting a tenement of four or five storeys, clean, but small. Instead the front was covered in a façade of dark marble, almost like a temple. The main buildings were set back from the dust and ordure of the streets, visible only through a high gate. Brutus supposed Marius’ house had been larger, but it was difficult to be sure.

Tubruk hadn’t told him anything more than the address, but as he took in his surroundings Brutus saw it was a rich area, with a good part of the crowd made up of servants and slaves running errands and carrying goods for their masters. He had expected his mother to be impressed by the son who had become a centurion, but when he saw the house he realised she might think of him as just a common soldier and hesitated.

He thought of going back to the estate. He knew Renius and Tubruk would welcome him without judging his failure, but hadn’t he planned the meeting all the way from Greece? It would be ridiculous to turn back with the grand building in sight.

He took a deep breath and checked his armour one last time for imperfections. The leather laces were tied and there was not a blemish to be seen. It would do.

The crowd parted around him without jostling as he moved forward. Up close, the gate brought back memories of Marius’ house on the other side of the city. He had barely reached it before it was swung open before him, a slave bowing and waving him in.

‘This way, sir,’ the slave said, fastening the gate closed and walking before him down a narrow corridor. Brutus followed, his heart thumping. Was he expected?

He was taken into a room that was as lavish as any he had ever seen. Marble columns supported the ceiling and were gilded at the head and foot. White statues lined the walls and couches were gathered around a pool in the centre, where he caught a glimpse of heavy fish swimming almost motionlessly in the cool depths. His armour seemed clumsy and loud in the stillness and Brutus wished he had unlaced the greave to have a good scratch before coming in.

The slave vanished through a doorway and he was alone with only the soft rippling of the water to distract him. It was peaceful enough, and after a moment’s thought he removed his helmet and ran his hands through his damp hair.

He felt the air move as another door opened behind him and then stood abruptly in surprise as a beautiful woman walked towards him. She was painted like a doll and about his age, he judged. Her dress was of some fabric he had never seen and through it he could make out the outline of her breasts and nipples. Her skin was perfectly pale and the only ornament she wore was a heavy chain of gold that ran around her throat.

‘Do sit,’ she said. ‘You should be comfortable.’ As she spoke, she sat down on the couch he had leapt from and crossed her legs delicately, making the dress move and reveal enough to bring a flush to his cheeks. He sat down beside her, trying to find a scrap of the resolution he had summoned before.

‘Do I please you?’ she said softly.

‘You are beautiful, but I am looking for … a woman I used to know.’

She pouted and he wanted to kiss her with a terrible ache, to gather her into his arms and make her gasp. The image of it made his senses reel and he realised the air had filled with a perfume that made him dizzy. Her hand reached out and touched him just at the top of the greave, where inches of his bare brown leg were revealed. He shivered slightly and then came to his senses in shock. He rose to his feet in a sudden movement.

‘Are you expecting payment from me?’

The girl looked confused and younger than he had first thought.

‘I don’t do it for love,’ she said, a good deal of the softness in her voice suddenly missing.

‘Is Servilia here? She will want to see me.’

The girl slumped into the couch, her flirtatious manner gone in an instant.

‘She doesn’t see centurions, you know. You have to be a consul to have a go with her.’

Brutus stared at her in horror.

‘Servilia!’ he shouted, striding past the pool to the other side of the room. ‘Where are you?’

He heard a clatter of running feet approaching behind one door, so quickly opened another and slipped through, closing it on the laughter of the girl on the couch. He found himself in a long corridor with a gaping slave bearing a tray of drinks.

‘You can’t come through here!’ the slave shouted, but Brutus pushed him aside, sending the drinks flying. The slave bolted away, then two men blocked the corridor at the end. Both held clubs and together they filled the narrow walkway, their shoulders brushing the walls as they strode towards him.

‘Had a bit too much to drink, have you?’ one of them grated as they closed.

Brutus drew his gladius in one smooth movement. It glittered, the blade etched like the greave with swirling designs that caught the light. Both men paused, suddenly uncertain.

‘Servilia!’ Brutus yelled at the top of his voice, keeping the sword levelled at the men. They drew daggers from their belt sheaths and advanced slowly.

‘You cocky little bugger!’ one said, waving his blade. ‘Think you can come in here and do what you like? I never got the chance to kill an officer before, but I’m going to enjoy this.’

Brutus stiffened.

‘Stand to attention, you ignorant bastards,’ he snapped at them. ‘If I see a blade pointing my way, I will have you hanged.’

The two men hesitated as he glared at them, responding to the tone almost as a reflex. Brutus took a furious step towards them.

‘You tell me how men of your age have left their legion to guard a whorehouse. Deserters?’

‘No … sir. We served with Primigenia.’

Brutus held his face stiff to mask his surprise and delight.

‘Under Marius?’ he demanded.

The older of the pair nodded. By now, they were standing erect before him and Brutus looked them up and down as if it was an inspection.

‘If I had time, I would show you the letter he wrote to send me to my century in Greece. I marched with him to the steps of the senate house to demand his Triumph. Do not shame his memory.’

The two men blinked in discomfort as Brutus spoke. He let the silence stretch for a moment.

‘Now, I have business with a woman named Servilia. You can fetch her to me, or take me to her, but you will act like soldiers while I’m here, understood?’

As the two men nodded, a door slammed open at the end of the corridor and a female voice snapped out.

‘Stand away from him and give me a clear line of sight.’

The two guards didn’t move, their eyes locked on the young centurion. The tension showed in their shoulders, but they remained still.

Brutus spoke clearly to them. ‘Is this the one?’

The older man was sweating with strain. ‘She is the lady of the house,’ he confirmed.

‘Then do as she tells you, gentlemen.’

Without another word, the two guards stepped aside to reveal a woman sighting down the length of an arrow at Brutus.

‘Are you Servilia?’ he said, noting the slight shake of her arms as they began to tire.

‘The name you have been yelling like a street brat selling fish? I own this house.’

‘I am no danger to you,’ Brutus replied. ‘And I’d ease off on that bow before you shoot someone by accident.’

Servilia glanced at her guards and seemed to find comfort in their presence. With a release of breath, she unbent the bow, though Brutus saw she held it so it could be quickly drawn and fired if he rushed at her. She had known the threats of soldiers before, he guessed.

The woman Brutus saw there was nothing like the one from the room of statues. She was as tall and slim as he was, with long dark hair that hung loose about her shoulders. Her skin glowed with sun and health and her face was not beautiful, in fact was almost ugly, but the wide mouth and dark eyes had a knowing sensuality that he thought would ensnare many men. Her hands were wide and strong on the bow and gold bangles chimed on her wrists as she moved.

He took in every detail of her and felt pain as he recognised a touch of himself in the line of her perfect throat.

‘You don’t know me,’ he said quietly.

‘What did you say?’ she said, coming closer. ‘You disrupt my home and carry a blade into my rooms. I should have you whipped raw, and do not think your pretty rank will save you.’

She walked superbly, he thought. He had seen that sort of sexual confidence in a woman only once before, at the temple of Vesta, where the virgins moved with insolence in every stride, knowing it was death to any man who touched them. She had something of that and he felt himself becoming aroused, sickened by it, but not knowing how to feel like a son. Blood rushed into his face and neck and she smiled sensually, showing sharp white teeth.

‘I thought you would look older,’ he murmured and a look of irritation came into her eyes.

‘I look how I look. I still don’t know you.’

Brutus sheathed his sword. He wanted to say who he was and have shock break through her confidence, to see her eyes widen in amazement as she realised what an impressive young man he was.

Then it all seemed worthless. A long-suppressed memory came to him of overhearing Julius’ father talking about her and he sighed to have it confirmed. He was in a whorehouse, regardless of how rich it seemed. It didn’t really matter what she thought of him.

‘My name is Marcus. I am your son,’ he said, shrugging.

She froze as still as one of her statues. For a long moment, she held his gaze, then her eyes filled with tears and she dropped the bow with a clatter and ran back down the corridor, slamming the door behind her with a force that shook the walls.

The guard was looking at Brutus with his mouth open.

‘Is that true, sir?’ he said, gruffly. Brutus nodded and the man flushed with embarrassment. ‘We didn’t know.’

‘I didn’t tell you. Look, I’m going to leave now. Is anyone waiting to put a bolt in me as I go through the door?’

The guard relaxed slightly. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Me and the lad are the only guards. She doesn’t need them, as a rule.’

Brutus turned to leave and the guard spoke again.

‘Sulla had Primigenia cut off the rolls in the Senate. We had to take what work we could find.’

Brutus turned back to him, wishing he had more to offer.

‘I know where you are now. I can find you again if I need you,’ he said. The guard stretched out his hand and Brutus took it in the legionary grip.

On his way out, Brutus passed through the room with the pool, thankful to find it empty. He paused only to collect his helmet and splash a little of the water on his face and neck. It didn’t help cool his confusion. He felt dazed by events and desperately wanted to find somewhere quiet where he could think through what had happened. The thought of struggling in the busy crowds was an irritation, but he would have to get back to the estate. He had no other home.

At the gate, a slave came running towards him. He almost drew his sword again at the footsteps, but the slave was another young girl, unarmed. She panted as she reached him and he noticed the rise and fall of her chest almost absently. Another beauty. It seemed the house was full of them.

‘The mistress told me you should return here tomorrow morning. She will see you then.’

Inexplicably, Brutus felt his spirits lift at the words.

‘I will be here,’ he said.

The pattern along the coast suggested the next settlement would be further than the soldiers could march in a day. They made better time when they crossed the tracks of heavy animals and could follow them until they turned away from the coast. Julius was unwilling to travel too far from the sound of crashing surf for fear of getting completely lost. When they turned off a trail, it was hard, sweaty work to cut their way through stalks and thornbushes as high as a man’s head and tipped with red thorns as if already marked in blood. Away from the sea, the air was thick with moisture and stinging insects plagued them all, rising unseen from the heavy leaves as the Romans disturbed them.

As they made camp for the evening, Julius wondered if the isolation of the Roman settlements was evidence of some far-sighted plan of the Senate to prevent these disparate villages banding together as the generations passed, but guessed it was just to give them room to grow. He supposed he could have pushed the men on through the dark, but the officers from Accipiter were far less comfortable in the hot African night than those who had grown up on that coast. Strange animal calls and screams woke them and had hands reaching for their swords, while the recruits slept on, oblivious.

Julius had given Pelitas the task of selecting guards for the watches, matching new men with those he trusted, in pairs. He was well aware that every mile along the narrow game tracks was a chance for the young villagers to desert. With weapons scarce, they went unarmed during the day, but swords had to be given to those on watch, and one or two of them eyed the old iron blades with something like avarice. Julius hoped it was a greed for the things of their fathers, not a desire to steal what they could and run.

Gathering food had presented similar problems. It was crucial that the Accipiter men did not become dependent on their charges to eat. It would be a subtle but significant shift in the ladder of authority Julius had set up. He knew that those who dispensed food were the masters, regardless of rank. That was a truth older than Rome herself.

He thanked the gods for Pelitas, who seemed able to trap small animals in those strange lands as once he had poached from the woodlands of Italy. Even the recruits had been impressed, watching him rejoin the group after only a few hours, bearing the limp bodies of four hares. With fifteen healthy men to feed, the evening hunt had become a vital skill and Pelitas had helped to prevent them splitting into two camps of those who could stalk and those who had to wait to be fed.

Julius looked over to his friend, busy carving slices of pork from the side of a young pig he had caught earlier in the day, breaking its leg with a swiftly thrown rock as it rushed from cover almost on top of them. The mother had not been seen, though squeals had come to them from the distant shrubbery. Julius wished she had come closer so that they could be looking forward to a feast instead of a few hot mouthfuls. There was no spare fat on any of the men from Accipiter and it would be a while before they lost their gaunt appearance completely. His mouth twitched as he supposed he had the same look. It had been such a long time since he had seen a mirror and he wondered if his face had changed for better or worse. Would Cornelia be pleased if she saw him, or shocked and upset by the grim look he imagined in his eye, mute evidence of the horrors of imprisonment?

He chuckled to himself at the flight of fancy. He would be the same, no matter how his face had changed.

Suetonius looked up sharply at the laugh, always seeing insult where there was none. It was hard to resist baiting the young man, but in this Julius had set rigid restrictions on himself. He sensed the spite came from fear that Julius would use his new authority to strike back for old injuries. He could not afford to enjoy even a moment of that luxury, in case it broke up the unit he was trying to make. He knew he had to become the sort of leader who was above small grievances, to appear to them as Marius had once appeared to him – cut from better stone. He nodded to Suetonius briefly then looked away at the rest.

Gaditicus and Prax supervised the camp, marking the perimeter with fallen branches, for want of anything better. Julius heard them go over the sentry rules with the men and smiled in a moment of nostalgia.

‘How many times do you challenge?’ Prax was saying to Ciro, as he had for all the men.

‘Once, sir. They call to approach the camp and I say, “Approach and be recognised.”’

‘And if they don’t call to approach the camp?’ Prax said cheerfully.

‘I wake someone else up, wait for them to get close and chop their heads off.’

‘Good lad. Neck and groin, remember. Anywhere else and they can still have enough strength to take you with them. Neck and groin is fastest.’

Ciro grinned, taking in every scrap of information Prax threw at him. Julius liked the big man’s heart. He wanted to be a legionary, to know what his father had once loved. Prax too had discovered that he enjoyed teaching all the things he had learned in his decades of marching and sailing for Rome. Given time, the new men would be able to deceive anyone. They would look like legionaries and speak with the same casual slang and expressions.

Julius frowned to himself as he tried to find a comfortable position to lie down. Whether they would stand when all around them had been cut down and the enemy brought certain death to them with screaming triumph … that they couldn’t know for sure until it happened. It didn’t help that the men of Accipiter weren’t even sure themselves where such wild courage came from. A man could spend a lifetime avoiding every conflict, then throw his life away to protect someone he loved. Julius closed his eyes. Perhaps that was the key, but not many men loved Rome. The city was too big, too impersonal. The legionaries Julius had known never thought of the republic of free voters, carved out on seven hills by a river. What they fought for was their general, their legion, even their century or their friends. A man standing next to his friends cannot run, for shame.

Suetonius yelped suddenly, leaping to his feet and beating at himself.

‘Help! There’s something on the ground here!’ he shouted.

Julius jumped to his feet and the other men closed in on the fire, swords drawn. A part of Julius noted with pleasure that Ciro stayed at his post.

In the light of the fire, a black line of enormous ants moved like oil over the ground, disappearing back into the shadows beyond the light. Suetonius was becoming frantic and began to tear off his clothes.

‘They’re all over me!’ he wailed.

Pelitas stepped forward to help him and as his foot stepped near the column, part of it slid towards him and he scrambled back with a shout, pulling at his legs with his bare fingers.

‘Gods, get them off!’ he cried.

The camp dissolved into chaos. Those who had been brought up on the coast were far calmer than the Accipiter officers. The ants bit as deeply as rats and when the soldiers found them, their bodies broke away to leave the jaws still attached and tearing into the skin in death spasm. The grip was too strong to be pulled away with fingers and Suetonius was soon covered in the dark heads, his hands bloody with tugging at them.

Julius called Ciro over and watched as he calmly checked the two Romans, breaking off the remaining bodies with his powerful hands.

‘They’re still in me! Can’t you get the heads out?’ Suetonius pleaded with him, shuddering in terror as he stood almost naked while the big man searched his skin for the last of them.

Ciro shrugged. ‘The jaws must be dug free with a knife, they can’t be prised apart. The tribes use them to close wounds, like stitches.’

‘What are they?’ Julius asked.

‘Soldiers of the forest. They guard the column on the march. My father used to say they were like the outriders Rome uses. If you stay clear, they will not attack you, but if you are in their path, they’ll make you jump like Suetonius.’

Pelitas turned a baleful eye on the column that still streamed through the camp.

‘We could burn them,’ he said.

Ciro shook his head sharply. ‘The line is endless. Better just to move away from them.’

‘Right, you heard him,’ Julius said. ‘Pack up and get ready to move a mile down the coast. Suetonius, I want you clothed and ready to go. You and Pelitas can work the jaws out of your skin when we’re settled again.’

‘It’s agony,’ Suetonius whimpered.

Ciro looked at him and Julius felt a pang of shame and irritation that the young officer was showing such a poor face to the recruits.

‘Move, or I’ll tie you down over the ants myself,’ he said.

The threat seemed to have an effect and before the moon moved far in the sky, a new camp was set up with Ciro and two others finishing their watch. They would all be tired from lack of sleep in the morning after the excitement.

Julius’ head throbbed slowly, seeming to match the rhythms of the droning insects all around them. Every time he drifted into sleep, he’d feel the sting of an insect settling onto his exposed skin. They left smears of his own blood as he caught and cracked them, but there were always more waiting for him to lie still. He made a pillow of his kit and used a rag to cover his face, longing for the distant skies of Rome. He could see Cornelia in his mind and he smiled. Exhaustion hit him moments later.

With itching red swellings on their skin and shadows under their eyes, they reached the next settlement before noon, less than a mile from the coast. Julius led the men into the square, taking in the sights and smells of a touch of civilisation. He was struck again by the absence of fortifications of any kind. The old soldiers who had taken their lands on this coast must have little fear of attack, he thought. The farms were small, but there must be trade between these isolated places and native villages further into the interior. He saw a number of black faces among the Romans who gathered to see his men. He wondered how long it would take for the Roman blood to mingle and be lost, so that distant generations would know nothing at all of their ancient fathers and their lives. The land would return to whatever state it had been in before they came and even the stories around campfires would falter and be forgotten. He wondered if they remembered the empire of Carthage here, when thousands of ships had explored the world from ports along this very coastline. It was a chilling thought and he put it aside for later reflection, knowing he had to focus his mind if he was to come away from this place with more of what he needed.

As they had been told to do, his men stood to attention in the double line, their expressions serious. With Julius’ sword, only eight more of the men were armed and only three had proper armour. Spots of blood marked Suetonius’ tunic and his fingers twitched to scratch the scabs the ants had left all over him. Most of the Accipiter officers were raw from the sun and insects and only the new recruits seemed unaffected.

Julius guessed they looked more like a troop of bandits or pirates than Roman legionaries, and saw more than a few of the people arm themselves surreptitiously, nervousness showing in all of them. A butcher paused in the process of cutting up what looked like a cousin of the young pig they had eaten the previous evening. He came out from behind his table with the cleaver resting on his arm, ready for a sudden attack. Julius let his gaze drift over the crowd, looking for whoever had the command. There was always someone, even in the wilderness.

After a tense wait, five men approached from the far end of the houses. Four were armed, three of them with long-handled wood axes and the last carrying a gladius that had snapped in some old battle, leaving him with little better than a heavy dagger.

The fifth man walked confidently to the newcomers. He had iron-grey hair and was as thin as a stick. Julius guessed he was pushing sixty, but he had the upright bearing of an old soldier and when he spoke, it was in the fluent Latin of the city.

‘My name is Parrakis. This is a peaceful village. What do you want here?’ he asked.

He addressed his question to Julius and seemed unafraid. In that moment, Julius changed his plan of browbeating the leader as he had the first. The village may have dealings with the pirates, but there was little evidence that they had profited from it. The houses and people were clean but unadorned.

‘We are soldiers of Rome, lately of the galley Accipiter. We were ransomed by a pirate named Celsus. We mean to gather a crew and find him. This is a Roman settlement. I expect your aid.’

Parrakis raised his eyebrows.

‘I am sorry, there is nothing here for you. I haven’t seen Italy for twenty years or more. There is no debt to be paid by the families here. If you have silver, you may buy food, but then you must go.’

Julius stepped a little closer, noting the way Parrakis’ companions tensed while ignoring them conspicuously.

‘These lands were given to legionaries, not to pirates. This coast is infested with them and you have a duty to help us.’

Parrakis laughed.

‘Duty? I left all that behind a lifetime ago. I tell you again, Rome has no call on us here. We live and trade in peace, and if pirates come we sell our goods to them and they leave. I think you are looking for an army? You won’t find it in this village. There’s nothing of the city here, amongst farmers.’

‘Not all the men with me are from the ship. Some are from villages to the west. I need men who can be trained to fight. Men who are not willing to spend their lives hiding in this village as you do.’

Parrakis flushed with anger.

‘Hiding? We work the land and struggle against pests and disease just to feed our families. The first ones came from legions that fought with honour in lands far from home and finally received the last gift of the Senate – peace. And you dare to say we are hiding? If I was younger I would take a sword to you myself, you insolent whoreson!’

Julius wished he had just grabbed the man at the start. He opened his mouth to speak quickly, knowing he was losing the initiative. One of the men with axes broke in first.

‘I’d like to go with them.’

The older man whirled on him, spittle collecting whitely at the corners of his mouth.

‘To go and get yourself killed? What are you thinking?’

The axe carrier pursed his lips against the anger coming from Parrakis.

‘You always said they were the best years of your life,’ he muttered. ‘When the old men get drunk, you always talk about those days like they were gold. All I have is the chance to break my back from dawn to dusk. What will I tell people when I am old and drunk? How good it was to slaughter a pig at festival? The time I broke a tooth on a piece of grit in the bread we make?’

Before the stupefied Parrakis could reply, Julius broke in. ‘All I ask is that you put it to the people of the village. I’d prefer volunteers, if there are more like this one.’

The anger sagged from Parrakis, making him look exhausted.

‘Young men,’ he said with a note of resignation. ‘Always looking for excitement. I suppose I was the same, once.’ He turned to the axe carrier. ‘Are you sure, lad?’

‘You’ve got Deni and Cam to work the farm, you don’t need me as well. I want to see Rome,’ the young man replied.

‘All right, son, but what I said was true. There’s no shame in making a life here.’

‘I know, Father. I’ll come back to you all.’

‘Of course you will, boy. This is your home.’

In all, eight from the village volunteered. Julius took six of them, turning down a pair who were little more than children, though one of them had rubbed soot onto his chin to make it look like the shadow of stubble. Two of the newcomers brought their own bows with them. It was beginning to feel like the army he needed to crew a ship and hunt the seas for Celsus. Julius tried to control his optimism as they marched out of the lush trees towards the coast for the first of the day’s drills. He tallied what they needed in his head. Gold to hire a ship, twenty more men and thirty swords, enough food to keep them alive until they reached a major port. It could be done.

One of the bowmen tripped and fell flat, bringing most of the column to a staggering halt. Julius sighed. About three years to train them would be useful, as well.