Читать книгу The Gods of War - Conn Iggulden - Страница 13

Regulus frowned as he saw Brutus appear once more. The silver-armoured figure stood like a statue by the white columns and Regulus shivered, surprising himself. There was something eerie in the general’s stillness as he looked over the milling crowd. Even from a distance, Brutus looked pale and Regulus broke suddenly into a fast walk towards him, convinced something was wrong. The path was dense with citizens, but Regulus ignored the shouts of those he sent sprawling, his eyes never leaving Brutus. He saw the general take his horse and swing himself into the saddle without a glance or word for those around him. Fear touched Regulus then. He called out as Brutus dug in his heels, knocking down a young boy who had clustered too close to his hooves.

Brutus did not stop or even turn at the cry. He rode stiffly and his face was bloodless and grim. They passed within feet of each other and Brutus didn’t feel the hand grasp desperately for his reins, nor hear his name.

Regulus swore under his breath as the horse clattered by out of reach. He looked up at the senate building and was caught between ordering his men to stop Brutus and finding out what had happened. He had nothing solid to support the feeling of dread that had stolen his peaceful mood. The moment of indecision passed with torturous slowness and Regulus found himself marching up the steps.

He heard their calm voices before he saw the generals of Gaul and Regulus shook his head in confusion. His mind had filled with violent images, but there was Adàn with his tablets and Ciro rising slowly with a questioning gaze.

‘What is it?’ Julius said.

Regulus hesitated, unwilling to voice what seemed like childish fears. What had he been thinking to allow such flights of fancy? ‘I … saw Brutus leave, sir. I thought there might be further orders.’

A subtle tension went out of the men as he spoke and Regulus saw Mark Antony too showed strain on his patrician features.

‘Join us, Regulus,’ Julius said. ‘Have one of your men keep order in the forum. You know Pompey as well as anyone and I want you to be part of the planning.’

Regulus felt a weight lift. He had been mistaken and chose not to mention his moment of superstitious fear. Yet as he seated himself he recalled the wildness in Brutus’ eyes and decided to seek him out before the day was over. Regulus did not enjoy mysteries, and he had never been a trusting man. With the decision made, he was able to turn to the business of the meeting and the incident slipped from his conscious thought.

Servilia’s house had hardly changed in the time Brutus had been away from the city. The three-storey building was clean and well-kept, with a single torch burning over the doorway at all hours of the day and night.

He paid a boy to look after his horse and walked into the main hall, removing his helmet and running a hand through sweat-soaked hair. He stood awkwardly as he announced himself, detached from the empty faces around him. He felt like a spectator in a play, hearing his own breath more loudly than the words of the servants.

She came out in a rush when she heard his name and he embraced her awkwardly, feeling her stiffen on the instant she came into contact. Her smile vanished.

‘What is it? Is there fighting?’ she said.

He shook his head and, without warning, tears threatened to humiliate him. ‘No. The city is cheering him in the forum. Julius is in the senate building.’

‘Then what is it? You’re so pale! Come inside, Brutus, and tell me.’

He followed past the stares of clients into the private suite of rooms and sank onto a couch, gazing at nothing. Servilia sat next to him and took his hands in hers. He saw how she had painted and prepared herself, and knowing it was for Julius was almost enough to make him walk out, if his legs would have borne him.

‘Tell me,’ she said softly.

He was surprised to see a rim of tears on her lashes. He reached up to touch them gently with his thumb and let his hand fall as she flinched from anything that would spoil her perfection. ‘I’m leaving, Servilia,’ he said. ‘I’m free of him.’

Servilia shook her head in confusion, gripping his hand. ‘What are you saying?’ she demanded.

He grimaced. ‘Exactly what you heard me say, Mother. I am done with Julius and he is done with me.’

‘Will you tell me what happened?’

‘I saw him make Mark Antony first in Rome and it all became painfully clear. Julius was never the man I thought he was. Never. He’s played with my loyalty as cleverly as any other of those senate bastards, until we are all working for them, giving our lives for nothing more than their promises and prestige.’

‘What does it matter if he honours Mark Antony? The man is no more than competent. There are dozens like him working for Rome. Julius needs you. I have heard him say it.’

Brutus shook his head in disgust. ‘He doesn’t need anyone. Just followers. I’ve done that for too many years and I’ve been his dog for most of my life. That can end too, like anything else.’ He closed his eyes for a moment, overcome by memory and pain.

She reached a hand to his cheek and he flinched away, wounding her.

‘Have you thought what you will do, at all?’ she said, her voice hardening. ‘Have you planned how you will live? Or must a son of mine be reduced to mercenary work and petty theft? How will you eat?’

‘I’m a little old to be looking for another life, Mother, don’t you think? I’m a Roman general and I know how to train soldiers. There will always be a place for men like me. I’ll go as far as I can until I have to work and there I’ll stay. I’ll build armies for someone else and never see Rome until Julius has gone from her. You may prefer me to stay and wash his feet for the rest of my life, but I will not.’

‘You must talk to Julius,’ she said, her eyes pleading. ‘No, let me talk to him. You stay here for an hour and I will see him. He loves you, Brutus, as much as I do.’

He rose and she stood with him, not willing to let him go.

‘He will hurt you too in the end,’ Brutus said softly. ‘And he won’t even know.’

He tilted his head, watching as tears flowed down her cheeks and spoiled the powder. As he began to step away from her, she reached out with surprising strength and drew him into an embrace. For a long time, she held him in silence and he could feel the wetness of her tears on his throat.

‘You are my only son,’ she said, at last. ‘Did I tell you how proud I was when you stood on the tourney sand and the crowd rose to cheer you? Did I tell you that?’

‘You did, and I knew it anyway,’ he murmured into her hair. ‘You were shining with it, in front of them all.’

‘Is there nothing I can say to you? Will you not even give me an hour? It is not such a great thing.’

‘Let it go, Mother,’ he said, his expression hardening. ‘Let me go.’

‘Never,’ she said. ‘You are too precious to me.’

‘What a pair of fools we are,’ he said. He raised his hand to her face and this time she did not draw back as he smoothed the tears from her. ‘In my letters, did I ever say there was a battle where I wore his helmet and cloak?’

She shook her head and he shrugged, looking back into the past.

‘They thought they were following him. The legions were tired and starving and in pain, but they followed because they thought he was calling them out for one last charge. He was helpless with his shaking sickness and he could not do it. I led them because I love him more than any other man I have known. He has been with me all my life and we have seen places I would not have believed. We have conquered countries together, and by the gods you should have seen the armies we broke. Enough to fill little Rome twice over, and we went through them.’

‘Then why?’

‘Because I cannot give my whole life to a man who does not even know what he has been given. He showed how much he valued me with his gift to Mark Antony.’

He clenched his fists at that memory.

‘I could have been more, do you understand? If he had died in Gaul, I would have mourned him, but I would have taken his place and cut my own path. I could have done it, Servilia. He and I have something running in our blood that no one else in this feeble city has, not any more. Either one of us could have risen over all of them and accepted no equals – no masters, Servilia. Yet with him, I am a servant. He sends me, I go. He tells me to stay, I stay. Can you imagine how that feels, for me?’

He stroked her hair gently as he spoke, but his eyes were distant and cold.

‘I am the best of my generation, Mother. I could have ruled. But I had the misfortune to be born to a Rome with Julius in it. I have suffered it for years. I have pledged my life to him and he cannot see it.’

She pulled back from him at last and shook her head. ‘You’re too proud, Brutus. Even for a son of mine you are too proud. You’re still young. You could be great and still be loyal to him.’

Temper flushed his cheeks. ‘I was born for more than that! In any other city, I could have ruled, don’t you understand? The tragedy is that I was born into his generation.’ He sighed in misery. ‘You couldn’t know. I have won battles when Julius had already given them up. I have led men when they would have run under any other general. I have trained generals for him, Servilia. There are places in Gaul where my silver armour is part of legends. Don’t tell me I’m too proud. You were not there.’

His eyes glinted with banked fire.

‘Why should I throw my years away for him like so many others? Renius died to save him, and Cabera gave his health because it was Julius asking. Tubruk died to save his wife. They were good men, but I won’t go with them across the river, not for him. I have won Gaul for Julius; let that be the end of it. He has had enough from me.’ He gave a bitter laugh, which chilled his mother. ‘Perhaps I should cross to Pompey and offer him my allegiance. I doubt he would scorn what I could bring.’

‘You won’t betray Julius,’ Servilia said, her eyes dark with horror. ‘Even your arrogance wouldn’t stretch that far.’ For an instant, she thought he might strike her.

‘My arrogance? Is that what you call it? Well, why not, Mother? Where else in the world is crying out for good Roman generals? Perhaps when Julius comes asking for me, you should tell him he will find me in Greece, on the other side of a battle. Perhaps he would understand then what he has lost in me.’

He detached her clinging hands and smiled at the ravages her crying had made in her face. Her age was no longer concealed and he wondered if he would ever see her again.

‘I am your son, Servilia, and I do have too much pride to follow him any longer.’

She looked up into his eyes and saw his furious determination. ‘He will kill you, Brutus.’

‘Such little faith in me, Servilia. Perhaps I shall kill him.’ He nodded as if they had come to an end and kissed her hand before walking out.

Alone, Servilia sank slowly onto the couch. Her hands were shaking and she clasped them together, before reaching for a tiny silver bell at her side. A slave girl entered and stood appalled at the destruction of the morning’s work.

‘Fetch your paints and oils, Talia. We must repair the damage before he comes.’

Brutus guided his Spanish horse through the streets, taking a path that would leave the forum far to the east. He had no wish to meet any of the men he was leaving and the thought of having to speak to them gave him an urgency that cut through his stunned misery.

He rode without care for the citizens and slaves who scurried out of his way. He wanted to leave it all behind and get to the coast where he could buy his way onto a fishing boat or anything else that would take him. The familiarity of the city seemed to mock his decision and every turning brought fresh memories. He had thought he had few ties with the people, but instead of faces he found he knew the calls of vendors, the colours, even the smells of the alleys that led away from the main roads.

Even though he was mounted, hurrying citizens kept pace with him as he rode through their midst, rushing endlessly from place to place in the city. He flowed with them and felt the stares of stall-keepers as he rode stiffly through the arteries of trade. It was all familiar, but still he was surprised when he found he had taken the road that led to Alexandria’s shop.

There were ugly memories waiting for him there. He thought of the riots that had left him wounded. Yet he was proud of saving those who could not protect themselves and he sat a little straighter in the saddle as he approached.

He saw her in the distance as he gathered the reins to dismount. Though she was facing away from him, he would have known her anywhere. His hands froze on the high pommel as a man at her side reached around her waist with casual affection. Brutus’ mouth pursed in thought and he nodded to himself. It didn’t touch him except as a distant pain that something else in his life had ended. He was too numb with a greater loss. Her letters had stopped a long time ago, but somehow he had thought she might have waited, as if her life could only go on while he was there. He shook his head and saw a grubby child watching him from an alley between the shops.

‘Come here, boy,’ he called, holding up a silver coin.

The urchin came out with a swagger like a dockworker and Brutus winced at the lack of meat on the young bones.

‘Do you know the lady who works in this shop?’ Brutus asked.

The boy flickered a glance after the couple further along the road, an answer in itself. Brutus did not follow the look, but simply held out the coin.

‘Is she doing well?’ he asked.

The boy looked cynically at him, eyeing the silver and clearly caught between fear and need. ‘Everyone knows her. She won’t let me in the shop, though.’

‘You’d steal the brooches, I should think,’ Brutus said, with a wink.

The boy shrugged. ‘Maybe. What do you want for the coin?’

‘I want to know if she wears a ring on her hand,’ Brutus replied.

The boy thought for a moment, rubbing his nose and leaving a silvery trail on his skin. ‘A slave ring?’

Brutus chuckled. ‘No, lad, a gold marriage band on the fourth finger.’

The boy still looked suspicious, but his eyes never left the promised reward. At last, he came to a decision and reached for it. ‘I’ve seen a ring. She has a baby at home, they say. Tabbic is the one who owns the shop. He hit me once,’ he said in a rush.

Brutus chuckled and let him take the coin. On impulse, he reached into his pouch and brought out a gold aureus. The boy’s expression changed the instant he saw it, going from confidence to frightened anger.

‘Do you want it?’ Brutus said.

The child scrambled away at high speed, leaving Brutus bemused behind him. No doubt the boy had never seen gold before and thought it would mean his death to own such a thing. Brutus sighed. If the local wolves found out he had such a treasure, it probably would. Shaking his head, he put the coin back in the pouch.

‘I thought it was you, General,’ a voice came.

Brutus looked down at Tabbic as the jeweller strolled onto the road and patted his horse’s neck. His bald head gleamed from the forges and white chest hairs tufted over the apron he wore, but he was still the same steady figure Brutus remembered.

‘Who else?’ Brutus replied, forcing a smile.

Tabbic squinted upwards as he rubbed the horse’s muzzle, seeing eyes still red with tears and anger. ‘Will you come in and try a drink with me?’ Tabbic said. ‘I’ll have a boy stable this fine mount of yours.’ When he saw Brutus hesitate, he went on. ‘There’s spiced wine on the forge, too much for me.’

He looked away as he asked, making it easy to refuse. Perhaps that was why Brutus nodded and swung a leg over the saddle.

‘Just the one then, if you can make it strong. I’m going far tonight,’ he said.

The interior of the shop was subtly different to how Brutus remembered it. The great forges still stood solidly, a banked fire gleaming red under the grates. The benches and tool racks were new-looking, though the smell of oil and metal was like stepping back into old memories. Brutus breathed in, smiling to himself and relaxing a fraction.

Tabbic noticed the change as he crossed to the heavy iron kettle on the edge of the forge. ‘Are you thinking of the riots? Those were black days. We were lucky to get out with our lives. I’m not sure I ever thanked you for helping us.’

‘You did,’ Brutus replied.

‘Draw up a seat, lad, while you taste this. Used to be, it was my winter brew, but it warms a summer evening just as well.’ Tabbic ladled steaming red liquid into a metal cup, wrapping it in cloth before handing it over.

Brutus took it gingerly, breathing in the fumes. ‘What’s in it?’ he asked.

Tabbic shrugged. ‘A few things from the markets. To be honest, it depends on what I have to hand. It tastes different every year, Alexandria says.’

Brutus nodded, accepting the old man’s lead. ‘I saw her,’ he said.

‘You would have done. Her husband came to bring her home just before I saw you,’ Tabbic replied. ‘She’s found a good man, there.’

Brutus almost smiled at the old jeweller’s transparent worry. ‘I’m not back to pick at old scabs. All I want is to get as far away as I can. I’ll not trouble her.’

He hadn’t noticed the tension in Tabbic’s shoulders until the old man relaxed. They sat in peaceful silence then and Brutus sipped at the mug, wincing slightly. ‘This is sour,’ he grumbled.

Tabbic shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t waste good wine on a hot cup. You’ll find it has a bite, though.’

It was true that the bitter warmth was easing some of the tightness in his chest. For a moment, Brutus resisted, unwilling to let go of even a part of his anger. Rage was something he had always enjoyed as it flooded him. It brought a kind of freedom from responsibility and to feel it ebb was to face the return of regret. Then he sighed and offered his cup for Tabbic to refill.

‘You don’t have the face of a man who came home this morning,’ Tabbic observed, almost to himself.

Brutus looked at him, feeling weary. ‘Maybe I have,’ he said.

Tabbic slurped the dregs of his own cup, belching softly into a fist as he considered the response. ‘You weren’t the sort to wrap yourself in knots the last time I saw you. What’s changed?’

‘Has it occurred to you that I might not want to talk about it?’ Brutus growled.

Tabbic shrugged. ‘You can finish your drink and leave, if you like. It won’t change anything. You’ll still be welcome here.’

He turned his back on Brutus to lift the heavy kettle off the forge and fill the cups once again. Brutus could hear the dark liquid slosh.

‘I think it’s grown stronger,’ Tabbic said, peering into the pot. ‘This was a good batch.’

‘Have you any regrets, old man?’ Brutus asked him.

Tabbic grunted. ‘I thought you had something troubling you. I’d go back and change a few things if I could – be a better husband, maybe. If you ever left your mother’s tit, there’ll be things you wish you hadn’t done, but it’s not all bad, I’ve found. A little guilt has made more than a few men live better than they would have done – trying to even the scales before they cross the river.’

Brutus looked away as Tabbic drew up an old bench, wincing as his knees flexed.

‘I always wanted a little more than that,’ Brutus said at last.

Tabbic sipped at his drink, the steam rising into his nostrils. After a time, he chuckled. ‘You know, I always thought that was the secret of happiness, right there. There are some people who know the value of a kind wife and children who don’t shame you. Maybe they’re the ones who had a cruel time of it when they were young; I don’t know. I’ve seen men who had to choose whether to feed the children or themselves each day, but they were content, even then.’

He looked up at Brutus and the man in silver armour felt the gaze and frowned to himself.

‘Then there are those who are born with a hole in them,’ Tabbic continued softly. ‘They want and want until they tear themselves to pieces. I don’t know what starts the need in a man, or how it’s stopped, except for killing.’

Brutus looked quizzically at him. ‘You’re going to tell me how to find a good woman after this, aren’t you?’

Tabbic shook his head. ‘You don’t come in here and ask me if I have any regrets without a few of your own. Whatever you’ve done, I hope you can mend it. If you can’t, it will be with you a long time.’

‘Another refill,’ Brutus said, holding out his cup. He knew his senses were being dulled, but he welcomed the feeling. ‘The trouble with your rustic philosophy,’ Brutus began, tasting the new cup. ‘The trouble is that there have to be some of us who want and want, or where would we be?’ He frowned then as he considered his own words.

‘Happier,’ Tabbic replied. ‘It’s not a small thing to raise a family and provide for them. It might not seem much to armoured generals of Rome, but it earns my respect. No poems about us.’

The mulled wine was more powerful than Brutus had expected on an empty stomach. He knew there was a flaw in Tabbic’s vision, but he couldn’t find the words to make him see it.

‘You need both,’ he said at last. ‘You have to have dreaming, or what’s the point? Cows raise families, Tabbic. Cows.’

Tabbic looked scornful. ‘I’ve never seen a worse head for drink, I swear it. “Cows”, by the gods.’

‘One chance you get,’ Brutus went on, holding up a finger. ‘One chance, birth to death, to do whatever you can. To be remembered. One chance.’ He slumped, staring at the red glow of the forge in the growing darkness.

They emptied the kettle down to bitter pulp at the bottom. Brutus had long ceased to move or speak when Tabbic eventually heaved him onto a cot in a back room, still in his armour. At the doorway, the jeweller paused, looking down at the sprawled figure, already beginning to snore.

‘My daughters remember me every day,’ he said softly. ‘I hope you make the right choices, lad. I really do.’

Julius picked a piece of fennel sausage out of his teeth and smiled as he watched the drunken guests become ever wilder as the moon sank towards the horizon. The music too became more frenzied as the wine flowed into the players. The drums and pipes beat out counterpoint rhythms, while the cithara players made their strings jump with blurring fingers. Julius had not heard a single dirge or ballad from them all the time he had been there, and their excesses suited his mood perfectly. The food too was magnificent after soldiers’ rations.

The invitation was one of dozens that had been delivered before sunset, but the host, Cassius, was a senator who had remained behind and Julius wanted to cultivate the man. Only the first hour had been spent in conversation, as Julius became reacquainted with the social class of his city. The free wine had been delivered all over Rome and they seemed determined to obey his command to celebrate, becoming increasingly wild as the moon set over the hills.

Julius barely listened to a drunken merchant who seemed to have fully recovered from his initial awe. The man wandered through topics without needing more than the occasional nod to keep him going. While he beamed and talked, Julius eyed the young ladies who had come to the party, not unaware that most of them had appeared only after his own presence became known. Some of them were shameless in their competition for his glance and he had already considered more than one of those to share his bed that night. Their faces were flushed with sexual excitement as the red wine lit them up and Julius found the spectacle mesmerising. He had been a long time in the field and the opportunities for female companionship had been few. Brutus had called it ‘scratching his itch’ and it had been no more satisfying, on the whole.

In comparison with the camp whores, the beauties of Rome were like a flock of painted birds arrayed for his enjoyment. Julius could smell the mingling perfumes in the air, even over the fennel.

He sensed his companion had stumbled at last to a halt and Julius looked at him, wondering if a question had been asked. He was a little drunk himself, though his wine was cut with water. Since passing through the Quirinal gate, he had felt the intoxication of challenge and sheer pleasure at being back with his people. The wine bore but a little responsibility for his good spirits.

‘My brothers in particular will be pleased to see a steady hand on the city after Pompey,’ the merchant continued.

Julius let his voice become a background noise as he watched the people around him. Apart from the simple arousal at the thought of bedding one of the Roman women, he wondered if he should be looking for something more than a night. He had once laughed at the suggestion that he needed heirs, but he had been younger then and many of those he called friends had still been alive. The thought sharpened his appraisal of the young women in the crowd, looking for more than a simple turn of leg and thigh, or the quality of the breasts. Given the option, he knew he would prefer a beauty, but perhaps it was also time to think of the connections and alliances of a union. Marriage was one of the powerful counters in the politics of Rome and the right choice could benefit him as much as the wrong one could be wasted.

With a slight gesture, Julius summoned Domitius from another knot of conversation. Senator Cassius saw the movement and came bustling over first, determined that Julius’ slightest whim should be met. He had been honoured by the arrival of the general and Julius found the constant attention flattering, as it was intended to be. The man was as slender as a youth and bore himself well amongst the guests. Julius had encouraged him with subtle compliments and felt sure the senator would be one of those returning to the new government. If the others who had stayed were as amenable, Julius thought the elections would go very smoothly indeed. The senate house could well be filled with his supporters.

He had intended to discuss the women with Domitius, but with Cassius there, Julius addressed him instead, choosing his words carefully. ‘I have been away for too long to know which of your guests are unmarried, Cassius.’ Julius hid his smile by sipping his wine as he saw the senator’s interest sharpen.

‘Are you considering an alliance, General?’ Cassius asked, watching him closely.

Julius hesitated only for a moment. Perhaps it was the excitement he had felt since his return, or part of his sexual interest that night, but he was suddenly certain. ‘A man cannot live alone, and the company of soldiers does not meet every requirement,’ he said, grinning.

Cassius smiled. ‘It will be a pleasure for me to arrange introductions for you. There is only a small selection here, though many are unpromised.’

‘A good family, of course, and fertile,’ Julius said.

Cassius blinked at the bluntness, and then nodded enthusiastically. He practically shook with the desire to spread the information and Julius watched as he searched for a way to take his leave without being rude.

Cassius found his solution in the slave messenger who entered the main room, moving quickly through the revellers towards Julius. The man was simply dressed and wore his iron ring to show his status, but to Julius’ eye he looked more like a bodyguard than a simple messenger. He had been around enough soldiers to know the manner and he felt Domitius prickle at the man’s approach, always wary as he had been trained to be.

As if sensing the discomfort his entrance had caused, the slave held up his hands to show he bore no weapons. ‘General, I have come from my mistress. She waits for you outside.’

‘No name? Who is your mistress?’ Julius asked.

The omission was interesting enough to halt even Cassius in the act of slipping back to the other guests. The slave blushed slightly. ‘She said you would remember the pearl, even if you had forgotten her. I am sorry, sir. Those are the words she gave me to say, if you asked.’

Julius inclined his head in thanks, quite happy to leave Cassius mystified. He felt a stab of guilt that he had not taken the time to see Servilia before the sun had fallen on his first day.

‘I will not need you, Domitius,’ he said, and ‘Lead the way,’ to the slave, following him outside and down the main stairs of the house. The doors were opened for him and he was able to step straight into the carriage waiting outside.

‘You did not come to me,’ Servilia said coldly as he smiled at her. She had always looked beautiful in moonlight and for a moment he was content just to drink her in.

‘Enough of that, Julius,’ she snapped. ‘You should have come as you promised. There is a great deal to discuss.’

Outside the snug confines of the carriage, her driver snapped his whip over the horse and the carriage trundled away over the stone streets, leaving the painted women of Rome to discuss the general’s interest without him.