Emperor: The Blood of Gods (Special Edition) (Emperor Series, Book 5) (23 page)

Octavian shook his head, his friend’s irrepressible nature cheering him. He had gambled and lost, but Maecenas seemed untroubled. Octavian grinned suddenly, letting his mood lighten.

‘Come on then,’ he said. ‘The Senate are watching. Let’s ride with a little dignity.’

He dug in his heels, despair and anger tearing into wisps on the breeze.

Exhausted, the Fourth Ferrata called a halt in sight of the walls of Rome, with Legate Liburnius sending riders ahead to take his urgent messages. Before the murder of Caesar, the idea of mutiny of any kind would have been unthinkable. Liburnius rubbed his horse’s ears as he reflected on the previous months. He had been a leading voice when they decided to ignore the original Senate summons. It was difficult to express the sense of chaos that had ripped through the legions at Brundisium. Many of them had fought at Caesar’s side in Greece and Egypt and Gaul, and there were few who could not remember seeing the Father of Rome or hearing him speak over the years. Some even recalled words he had said to them individually with great pride. They were bound by oaths that were as much a part of them as their armour and traditions, but an unspoken loyalty ran even deeper. They were Caesar’s men. To be called to the command of the senators who had murdered him had not been an order they could obey.

Liburnius bit the inside of his lip as he looked at the city ahead, surprised at the strength of his pleasure in simply coming home. He had not seen Rome for years and yet somehow he found himself returning at the head of a freshly mutinous legion, no doubt with an enraged consul coming up fast behind. After his promotion to legate, it was not exactly how he had seen his career going and he smiled wryly at the thought. Yet when he looked for doubts, there were none. His men did not know about the favour he carried in his packs, or even the fact that he had met the new Caesar. They knew only the name and the adoption, the mark of family that linked Octavian to the very man who had formed them. It was enough.

When Liburnius had told them his decision to head north and join Caesar’s rebellion, they had been too cautious to cheer, but their delight had been obvious. He shook his head, amused at himself. In all his years as tribune, he had not known one hundredth part of the popularity he had gained then. It was frankly surprising how much he appreciated it, a man who had always assumed he was above seeking the adoration of those under his command. Liburnius knew he was no lion of Rome, like Marius, Sulla or Caesar himself. He had been content with his rank and that the men obeyed out of simple discipline. The murder of Caesar had rocked his foundations as much as any of them, altering the way he saw the world.

He breathed in relief as he saw the first of his messengers come galloping back to his position. Mark Antony could not be too far behind. The last thing Liburnius wanted was to be caught against the walls of the city before he could even join Octavian. His men were footsore and weary, but they had pushed on all night, making the best pace possible and not daring to leave any man behind. Whether the decision to mutiny was right or wrong, there was no going back from that point and they all knew it.

The extraordinarii rider was flushed and sweating. His horse skidded on damp stones as he pulled up, making the animal’s haunches bunch with a heave on the reins.

‘Caesar’s legions have left the city, sir, heading north.’

‘Shit!’ Liburnius said in disbelief. ‘How long ago? What forces remain in the city?’ He fired more questions at the hapless rider, who could only hold his hands up.

‘I don’t know, sir. I asked a temple priest. As soon as I heard the news, I swung round and came back.’

Liburnius felt his mood crumble into bitterness. He would not be entering Rome that day, not alone. The consul and five other legions would be hammering up the road at him while he sat there.

‘Well, which road did they take?’ he snapped.

The young rider only shook his head, but he turned the mount on the spot.

‘I’ll find out, sir.’

He galloped back the way he came and Liburnius could see worry and fear on the faces of all those who had heard, the news spreading fast through the ranks of waiting men.

‘Why would Caesar have waited for us?’ he asked them. ‘He didn’t know we were coming to join him. Centurions! Take the Fourth Ferrata around the city walls to the Campus Martius. We have a chase on our hands.’

To his satisfaction, the closest men grinned, setting off in matched step despite their exhaustion.

Mark Antony drew up angrily, his personal guard holding a tight formation around him. He could smell his own sweat and his face was rough with stubble. He was in no mood to be challenged by Legate Buccio that morning.

‘Why have you countermanded my orders and called a halt?’ he demanded. ‘You can rest when we reach the city.’

Four legions continued to march doggedly down the last miles of the Via Appia, while Buccio’s legion stood with their heads down in ranks, looking shattered. They had marched all night, passing another twenty-two of the milestones after the thirty they had managed the day before.

The legate saluted properly, though his eyes were red with exhaustion.

‘I did try to warn you, sir. I did not want to go sneaking off in the night.’ He took a deep breath. ‘My legion will not go further with you, sir.’

Mark Antony gaped at him, unable to understand at first what the legate was saying so calmly. When he took it in, the consul’s jaw firmed and he dropped his hand to the sword hilt sticking up by his right thigh.

‘I have four legions I can call back, Legate Buccio. Obey my orders or I will see you strung up.’

‘I regret, Consul, that I cannot obey that order,’ Buccio replied. To Mark Antony’s shock, the man smiled as he went on. ‘The Ninth Macedonia will not take arms against a Caesar.’

Mark Antony became aware that their conversation was being closely watched by Buccio’s men. As his gaze drifted over them, he saw they were standing like dogs on a rope, ready to lunge forward. Their fingers moved on the hafts of spears and they did not look away. He could not order his guards to take Buccio into custody. The barely checked aggression of the legionaries made clear what would happen if he tried.

Mark Antony leaned down from his saddle, dropping his voice so that it would not carry to the waiting men.

‘No matter how this turns out, Buccio, no matter what happens at the city, there is no force in Rome that does not punish mutiny and treason. You will not be trusted again. The Ninth Macedonia will be struck from the Senate rolls and disbanded, whether by me or by the Senate themselves. Will you have your men become brigands, homeless traitors unable to sleep anywhere without the fear of attack? Think about that before you go too far along the path and I can no longer save you from your own foolishness.’

The words struck Buccio like blows, but his mouth tightened to a pale line.

‘They and I are of one mind, Consul. They can be pushed only so far and then they must be led, just as you told me.’

Mark Antony glared to have his own words repeated to him.

‘Then I hope we meet again,’ he said, ‘in better times.’

The consul turned his horse and jerked his head for the guards to follow him. He had lost two legions and he could read the wind well enough. He clenched his jaw as he rode after the ones he still had left.

By the time Buccio’s legion marched up the Via Appia, some hours later, Mark Antony had left the road to head north, taking a wide line around the city. The legate halted briefly at the signs of their passing, a great swathe of trampled and muddy grass showing the tracks of twenty thousand men disappearing into the distance. Buccio nodded to himself, then summoned his own extraordinarii rider.

‘Ride ahead, to Caesar. Let him know the Ninth Macedonia are with him. Tell him Consul Mark Antony no longer comes to Rome. And if you see Legate Liburnius, tell him he owes me a drink.’

As the rider galloped off on the stone road, Buccio’s tribune came up. Patroclus was a young noble, barely twenty years of age, and from one of the better families in Rome. He watched the rider dwindling into the distance.

‘I hope Caesar appreciates what we’ve risked in his name,’ Patroclus said. The man had a pink lump with a white head on his eyelid that had swelled his eye almost closed. He scratched irritably at it as he spoke.

‘You can have that steamed out in Rome, Patroclus,’ Buccio said.

‘I am not worried about my eye, sir, just the rest of me. My mother will collapse when she hears I’ve mutinied.’

‘You have mutinied
for
Caesar,’ Buccio said softly. ‘You have placed your faith in
him
, for the man and his adopted son, over the Senate that murdered him. That is not the same thing at all.’

The atmosphere in Pompey’s theatre was sulphurous, filled with panicky anger as groups of opposing senators tried to shout over each other. The fragile truce that had existed while Octavian and the legions remained in the forum had cracked apart the moment they marched north. Without properly appointed consuls to keep order, the debates had deteriorated quickly and Bibilus had been challenged as speaker by a powerful group of senators that morning. Forced to give up his position, he sat back on the marble benches with Suetonius and his clique of supporters, watching and waiting for a weakness.

Hirtius and Pansa stood before the other senators. Every passing day brought their consular year closer and together they had bluffed that position into something like authority. It was Hirtius who picked speakers as it pleased him. He waited through the latest round of recrimination and argument before deciding to speak once again.

‘Senators, this clamour has no place here! We have all the facts we need to make a decision, brought in by men risking their lives. It is enough! Rome lies vulnerable until the legions from Ostia arrive. They have landed safely, but will we waste the day in pointless argument? Senators, be silent!’

Under his furious glare, they quietened in patches and then as a whole. It was the third meeting in as many days and the news had only worsened with each one. Every man there was aware of the ugly mood in the city. Without legions to keep order, crimes against citizens and property had risen tenfold and there were few present who did not have some story of theft or rape or murder to recount. They were frustrated and angry, but the lack of a clear path through only added to the chaos. Outside the theatre, almost a thousand mercenary guards waited for their employers to come out. Only in their presence could the senators return to their homes and even then crowds gathered quickly to shout and jeer and violence was constantly in the air. In all its centuries, Rome had never felt as close to a complete breakdown of order as it did then and Hirtius saw fear as much as anger in the ranks of robed men. It did not trouble him particularly. In such an atmosphere, he considered he might win far greater authority and advantages than any other year.

‘I have reports from a dozen men observing the movement of legions around this city,’ Hirtius said loudly. ‘I’m sure you can confirm it all from your own clients and informers. The situation is perilous, no doubt, but not beyond salvage, not if we act quickly.’ He waited through a sudden tirade by one of the more elderly senators, staring the man down until he subsided and took his seat once more.

‘Thank you for your courtesy, Senator,’ Hirtius said with as much acid as he could manage. ‘But the facts are simple enough. Mark Antony has taken four legions north. I had to waste a man who had been my client for a dozen years to bring me his destination. We know the consul’s intention to attack a loyal member of this Senate: Decimus Junius.’

Cries went up from the senators and Hirtius shouted over them.

‘Yes, Mark Antony flouts our authority! There is no point going over the same ground. Our
response
is the issue, not the crimes of the consul. Decimus Junius has no more than three thousand legionaries assigned as staff and guards for the region. He
will
fall and we will have another small king established there to scorn all we do. However, gentlemen, it may not come to that. I have discussed it with Senator Pansa and we have a potential solution.’

For the first time that morning, the men on the benches were properly silent and Hirtius smiled tightly. He was a stern man, with many years as tribune and legate of legions behind him.

‘I ask only that you hear me out before you begin baying once more. You do yourselves no service with this howling and gnashing of teeth.’

There was some muttering at being lectured in such a way, but he ignored it.

‘Four fresh legions are gathering at Ostia, drawn from Sicily and Sardinia. They will be here in two days. Apart from those, there is only one army of sufficient strength in range of the consul. There is only one other force capable of heading off the attack on Decimus Junius.’ He paused, expecting some sort of protest as they realised his drift, but to his surprise it did not come. The senators were truly afraid and for once they were listening.