Emperor: The Blood of Gods (Special Edition) (Emperor Series, Book 5) (4 page)

‘You don’t believe that,’ he told Maecenas. ‘They call it the eternal city for a reason. There will be Romans here for a thousand years, longer. Or do you think some other nation will rise up and be our masters?’ He watched his cup being refilled with beady concentration.

‘Athens, Sparta, Thebes …’ Maecenas replied, counting on his fingers. ‘Names of gold, Octavian. No doubt the men of those cities thought the same. When Alexander was wasting his life in battles abroad, do you think he would have believed Romans would one day rule their lands from coast to coast? He would have laughed like a donkey, much as you are doing.’ Maecenas smiled as he spoke, enjoying making his friend splutter into his cup with each outrageous comment.

‘
Wasting
his life?’ Octavian said when he had recovered from coughing. ‘You are seriously suggesting Alexander the Great could have spent his years more fruitfully? I will not rise to it. I will be a stern and noble Roman, too …’ He paused. The drink had muddled his thoughts. ‘Too stern and noble to listen to you.’

‘Alexander had the greedy fingers of a merchant,’ Maecenas said. ‘Always busy, busy, and what did it get him? All those years of fighting, but if he had known he would die young in a foreign land, don’t you think he would rather have spent it in the sun? If he were here, you could ask him. I think he would choose fine wine and beautiful women over his endless battles. But you have not answered my question, Octavian. Greece ruled the world, so why should Rome be any different? In a thousand years, some other nation will rule, after us.’ He paused to wave away a plate of sliced meat and smile at two old ladies, knowing they could not understand what he was saying.

Octavian shook his head. With exaggerated care, he put his cup down and counted on his fingers as Maecenas had done.

‘One, because we cannot be beaten in war. Two … because we are the envy of every people ruled by petty kings. They want to become us, not overthrow those they envy. Three … I cannot think of three. My argument rests on two.’

‘Two is not enough!’ Maecenas replied. ‘I might have been confounded with three, but two! The Greeks were the greatest fighting men in the world once.’ He gestured as if throwing a pinch of dust into the air. ‘
That
for their greatness, all gone.
That
for the Spartans, who terrified an army of Persians with just a few hundred. The other nations will learn from us, copy our methods and tactics. I admit I cannot imagine our soldiers losing to filthy tribes, no matter what tricks they steal, but it could happen. The other point, though – they want what we have? Yes, and we wanted the culture of the Greeks. But we did not come quietly like gentlemen and ask for it. No, Octavian! We took it and then we copied their gods and built our temples and pretended it was all our own idea. One day, someone will do the same to us and we will not know how it happened. There are your two points, in ashes under my sandals.’ He raised a foot and pointed to the ground. ‘Can you see them? Can you see your arguments?’

There was a grunt from another bench, where Agrippa was lying stretched out.

‘The ape awakes!’ Maecenas said cheerfully. ‘Has our salty friend something to add? What news from the fleet?’

Agrippa was built on a different scale from the villagers, making the bench groan and flex under his bulk. As he shifted, he overbalanced and caught himself with a muscular arm pressed against the ground. With a sigh, he sat up and glared at Maecenas, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his bare knees.

‘I could not sleep with you two clucking.’

‘Your snoring calls you a liar, though I would not,’ Maecenas replied, accepting another full cup.

Agrippa rubbed his face with his hands, scratching the curls of black beard he had grown over the previous weeks.

‘So I will say only this,’ Agrippa went on, stifling a yawn, ‘before I find a better and a quieter place to sleep. There will be no empire to follow us because we have wealth enough to withstand any new tribe or nation. We pay for men by the hundred thousand, swords and spears by the million across all our lands. Who could stand against us without the full might of Caesar falling on his neck?’

‘It is always about money with you, isn’t it, Agrippa?’ Maecenas replied, his eyes bright with amusement. He enjoyed needling the bigger man and they both knew it. ‘You still think like a merchant’s son. I am not surprised, of course. It is in your blood and you cannot help it, but while Rome is full of merchants, it is the noble classes who will decide her future, her destiny.’

Agrippa snorted. The evening had grown cold and he rubbed his bare arms

‘According to you, a noble man would spend his day in the sun, with wine and beautiful women,’ Agrippa said.

‘You
were
listening! I don’t know how you do it, snoring all the while. It is a rare talent.’

Agrippa smiled, showing very white teeth against his black beard.

‘Be thankful for my blood, Maecenas. Men like my father built Rome and made her strong. Men like you rode pretty horses and gave impressive speeches, just as Aristotle and Socrates once held court in the agora.’

‘I sometimes forget you have been educated, Agrippa. Something about you says illiterate peasant whenever I look at you.’

‘And something about you says that you enjoy the company of men more than most.’

Octavian groaned at the bickering. His head was swimming and he had lost all track of time.

‘Peace, you two. I think we’ve eaten and drunk an entire winter’s store for these people. Apologise and join me in another jug.’

Maecenas raised his eyebrows. ‘Still awake? Remember that you owe me a gold aureus if you fall asleep or vomit before me. I am feeling very fresh.’

Octavian held his gaze for a moment, waiting until Maecenas gave way with a grunt.

‘Very well, Octavian. I apologise for suggesting Agrippa’s skull would find its best use as a battering ram.’

‘You did not say that,’ Octavian replied.

‘I was thinking it,’ Maecenas said.

‘And you, Agrippa? Will you be as noble?’

‘I struggle to reach his level, Octavian, but as you ask, I apologise for saying he would not earn as much as he thinks, renting himself out by the hour.’

Maecenas began to laugh, but then his face grew pale and he turned aside to empty his stomach. One of the old women muttered something he did not catch.

‘That is an aureus you owe me,’ Octavian told Maecenas with satisfaction. His friend only groaned.

As the sun rose the following morning, Maecenas was silent and in pain, though he forced himself out of his bed to join Agrippa in the courtyard. The Greek house they had rented for the period of leave was small, though it came with a house slave to look after them. With one eye closed against the sun, Maecenas squinted at the other man, watching him limber up.

‘Where is Octavian?’ he asked. ‘Still sleeping?’

‘Here,’ Octavian said, coming out. His hair was slick with cold water and he looked pale and ill, but he raised a hand in greeting to his two friends. ‘I don’t even remember coming back. Gods, my head is cracked, I’m sure of it. Did I fall?’

‘Into a jug, perhaps. Otherwise, no,’ Agrippa replied cheerfully. Of the three, he seemed best able to shrug off vast quantities of alcohol and he enjoyed watching the other two suffer.

‘What plans for our last days of leave, Octavian?’ Maecenas asked. ‘I’m sure you are tempted to spend them educating the local children, or perhaps helping the farmers in their fields. However, I heard of a private boxing match this evening. I’m waiting for an address still, but it should be worth watching.’

Octavian shook his head.

‘The last one turned into a riot, which is no surprise as they almost always do. The same goes for the cockfights. And don’t mock; you know I was right. Those men needed killing.’

Maecenas looked away rather than argue.

‘We have two more days of leave, gentlemen,’ Agrippa said. ‘It might be a better idea to spend those days running and training. I don’t want to go back to my ship with the wind of an old man.’

‘You see, that is just a lack of imagination, Agrippa,’ Maecenas said. ‘First of all, you are already an old man …’

‘Two years older than you, at twenty-two, but go on,’ Agrippa interrupted.

‘… and you carry too much weight on your bones, like a bullock. Those of us who have not wasted years lifting heavy weights do not lose fitness so easily. We are racehorses, you see, if the metaphor is not immediately clear.’

‘Shall we test your speed against my strength?’ Agrippa asked, smiling unpleasantly.

Maecenas eyed the heavy training sword Agrippa was swishing through the air.

‘You battered me near senseless last time, which was not sporting. In a real duel, I would cut you up, my friend, but these wooden swords filled with lead? They are clubs for peasants and you swing yours with abandon. The idea is not appealing.’ His closed eye opened and he squinted against the sunlight. ‘Still, I have been giving it some thought, since your last instruction.’

‘I meant you to learn a lesson, so I am pleased,’ Agrippa replied.

There was a growing tension on the sandy yard. Maecenas did not enjoy being bested in anything and Octavian knew it had rankled with him to be knocked around like a child. For one of Agrippa’s bulk and strength, the wooden swords could be almost ignored, allowing him to land a punch or a blow that sent Maecenas reeling. He opened his mouth to distract them, but Maecenas had spotted a rack of throwing spears along a wall, long Roman weapons with iron tips and a wooden shaft. His face lit up.

‘A different weapon might allow me to demonstrate a few points to you, perhaps,’ Maecenas said.

Agrippa snorted. ‘So I should let you have three feet of reach over me?’ His eyes glinted, though whether it was anger or amusement, it was impossible to tell.

‘If you are afraid, I will understand,’ Maecenas said. ‘No? Excellent.’ He walked to the rack and removed one of the long weapons, feeling the heft of it.

Agrippa brought his wooden sword up across his body. He wore only leggings, sandals and a loose tunic and did not enjoy Maecenas gesturing with a throwing spear near him.

‘Come, Maecenas,’ Octavian said uncomfortably. ‘We will find something good to do today.’

‘I have already found something good to do,’ Maecenas replied. He closed the distance quickly, jerking his arm back to make Agrippa flinch. The big man shook his head.

‘Are you sure? That is a weapon for soldiers, not noblemen.’

‘It will do, I think,’ Maecenas replied. As he spoke, he jabbed the point at Agrippa’s broad chest, then back and again at his groin. ‘Oh yes, it will do very well indeed. Defend yourself, ape.’

Agrippa watched Maecenas closely, reading his footwork and stance as well as his eyes. They had sparred many times before and both men knew the other’s style. Octavian found himself a bench and sat down, knowing from experience that he would not be able to drag them away until they’d finished. Though they were friends, both men were used to winning and could not resist challenging each other. Octavian settled himself.

At first, Agrippa merely stepped back from the jabbing point that struck out at him. He frowned as it came close to his eyes, but slid away from it, raising his training gladius to block. Maecenas was enjoying having the big man on the defensive and began to show off a little, his feet quick on the sandy ground.

The end, when it came, was so sudden that Octavian almost missed it. Maecenas lunged fast and hard enough to score a wound. Agrippa blocked with the edge of his sword, then turned from the hip and smacked his left forearm into the spear. It snapped cleanly and Maecenas gaped at it. Agrippa laid his sword along Maecenas’ throat and grunted a laugh.

‘A victory,’ Agrippa said.

Without a word, Maecenas pushed the wooden sword away and reached down, picking up the broken half of his spear. It had been sawn almost through, the cut hidden with brown wax. His eyes widened and he strode back to the row of spears. He cursed as he examined the rest, snapping them one by one over his thigh. Agrippa began to laugh at his thunderous expression.

‘You did this?’ Maecenas demanded. ‘How long did it take you to prepare every spear? What sort of a man goes to such lengths? Gods, how did you even know I would choose one of them? You are a madman, Agrippa.’

‘I am a strategist, is what I am,’ Agrippa said, wiping tears from his right eye. ‘Oh, your face. I wish you could have seen it.’

‘This is not honourable behaviour,’ Maecenas muttered. To his irritation, Agrippa just laughed again.

‘I would rather be a peasant and win than be noble and lose. It is as simple as that, my friend.’

Octavian had risen to see the broken spears. With care, he kept any sign of amusement from his face, knowing that Maecenas would already be insufferable all day and he could only make it worse.

‘I heard there will be fresh oranges in the market this morning, packed in ice the whole way. Cold juice would help my head, I think. Can you shake hands and be friends for the day? It would please me.’