Emperor: The Death of Kings E#2 (12 page)

He looked over to Varro’s sons and sighed. Those same retired legionaries had children who had never seen Rome, providing new men for the pirate ships when they came. He noted the dark skins of the pair, their features a mingling of Africa and Rome. How many of these would there be, knowing nothing of their fathers’ loyalties? They could never be farmers any more than he could, with a world to see.

Varro rubbed his neck as he watched Julius and tried to guess at his thoughts, his spirits sinking as he saw the strange eyes come to rest on his beloved sons. He feared for them. He could feel the anger in the young officer even now.

“We never had a choice,” he said. “Celsus would have killed us all.”

“You should have sent messages to Rome, telling them about the pirates,” Julius replied distantly, his thoughts elsewhere.

Varro almost laughed. “Do you think the Republic cares what happens to us? They make us believe in their dreams while we are young and strong enough to fight for them, but when that is all gone, they forget who we are and go back to convincing another generation of fools, while the Senate grow richer and fatter off the back of lands we have won for them. We were on our own and I did what I had to.”

There was truth in his anger and Julius looked at him, taking in the straighter bearing.

“Corruption can be cut out,” he said. “With Sulla in control, the Senate is dying.”

Varro shook his head slowly. “Son, the Republic was dying long before Sulla came along, but you’re too young to see it.”

Varro collapsed back into his seat, still rubbing his throat. When Julius looked away from him, he found all the officers of
Accipiter
watching him, waiting patiently.

“Well, Julius?” Pelitas said quietly. “What do we do now?”

“We gather what we need and move on to the next village, then the next. These people owe us for letting the pirates thrive in their midst. I do not doubt there are many more like this one,” he replied, indicating Varro.

“You think you can keep doing this?” Suetonius said, horrified at what was happening.

“Of course. Next time, we will have swords and good clothes. It will not be so hard.”

  CHAPTER
10
  

T
ubruk swung the axe smoothly into the cut in the dying oak. A sliver of healthy wood jolted out under the blow, but the dead branches showed it was time for the old tree to come down. It wouldn’t be long until he reached the heartwood, and he was sure the core was rotten. He had been working for more than an hour, and sweat plastered his linen bracae to him. He had removed his tunic after warming up and felt no need for it, despite the breeze that blew through the woods. The drying perspiration cooled him and he felt at peace. It was difficult not to think about the problems of running the estate after the ransom payment, but he pushed those thoughts aside, concentrating on the swing and strike of the heavy iron blade.

He paused, panting, and rested his hands on the long axe handle. There had been a time when he could have swung an axe all day, but now even the hairs on his chest had turned a winter gray. Foolish to keep pushing himself, perhaps, but old age came fastest to those who sat and waited for it, and at least the exercise kept his belly flat.

“I used to climb that tree,” a voice sounded behind him. Tubruk jumped at the interruption to the quiet of the woods, turning with the axe in his hands.

Brutus was there, sitting on a stump with his arms folded and the old grin making his eyes bright. Tubruk laughed with the pleasure of seeing him and rested the axe against the wide trunk of the oak. For a moment, they didn’t speak, then Tubruk crossed the space to him and gripped him in a great hug, lifting him off the stump.

“By all the gods, Marcus, it’s good to see you, lad,” Tubruk said as he let Brutus go. “You’ve changed. You’re taller! Let me look at you.”

The old gladiator stepped back and pulled on his tunic.

“That’s a centurion’s armor. You’ve prospered.”

“Bronze Fist,” Brutus replied. “Never lost a battle, though we came close once or twice when I was giving the orders.”

“I doubt it. Gods, I’m proud of you. Are you back for good now, or on your way through?”

“My posting is over. There are a few things I want to do in the city before finding a new legion.”

For the first time, Tubruk noticed how dusty the young man was.

“How far have you walked?”

“Halfway across the world, it feels like. Renius doesn’t like to part with his money for horses, though we found a couple of nags for part of it.”

Tubruk chuckled as he picked up the axe and rested it on his shoulder.

“He came back with you, then? I thought he’d given up on the city when they burned his house in the riots.”

Brutus shrugged. “He’s gone to sell the plot and find a place to rent.”

Tubruk smiled in memory. “Rome is too quiet for him now. I should think he’d hate it.” He clapped a hand on Brutus’s shoulder. “Come down the hill with me. Your old room is just as it was and a good soak and rubdown will take the dust of the road out of your lungs.”

“Is Julius back?” Brutus asked.

Tubruk seemed to slump a little as if the axe had suddenly become heavier.

“We had to raise a ransom for him when pirates took his galley. We’re still waiting to hear if he’s safe.”

Brutus looked at him in amazement. “Gods, I haven’t heard this! Was he wounded?”

“We know nothing. All I’ve had was the order for the money. I had to pay for guards to load it onto a merchant ship at the coast. Fifty talents, it was.”

“I didn’t think the family had that kind of money,” Brutus said quietly.

“We don’t now. All the businesses had to be sold, as well as some of the estate land. There’s just the crop revenue left. The years will be hard for a while, but there is enough to live on.”

“He’s had his share of bad luck. Enough for a lifetime.”

“I doubt he’ll be down for long. Julius and you are the same. Money can always be made again, if you live long enough. Did you know Sulla was dead?”

“Even in Greece, we were told to wear black. Is it true he was poisoned?”

Tubruk frowned for a second, looking away before replying, “It’s true. He made a lot of enemies in the Senate. His general, Antonidus, is still searching for the killers. I don’t think he will ever give up.”

As he spoke, he thought of Fercus and the terrible days that had followed after hearing he had been taken. Tubruk had never known fear like it, waiting for soldiers to march from the city and take him back for trial and execution. They had not come and Antonidus continued to question and search. Tubruk didn’t even dare look for Fercus’s family in case Antonidus was watching them, but he had sworn the debt would be repaid somehow. Fercus had been a true friend, but more than that, he had believed in the Republic with a passion that had surprised the old gladiator when he had first broached the plan for killing Sulla. Fercus had hardly needed to be persuaded.

“Tubruk?” Brutus broke into his thoughts, looking curious.

“I’m sorry. I was thinking of the past. They say the Republic has returned and Rome is once again a city of law, but it isn’t true. They sink their teeth into each other to prevent anyone taking over from Sulla. Only recently, two senators were executed for treason on nothing more than the word of their accusers. They bribe and steal and give out free corn to the mob, who fill their bellies and go home satisfied. It is a strange city, Marcus.”

Brutus put his hand on Tubruk’s shoulder. “I did not know you cared so much about it,” he said.

“I always did, but I trusted more when I was younger. I thought that men like Sulla and, yes, Marius could not harm her, but they can. They can kill her. Do you know that free corn wipes out small farmers? They cannot sell their crops. Their lands are put up for sale and added to the swollen holdings of the senators. Those farmers end up on the city streets being given the very corn that ruined them.”

“There will be better men in the Senate in time. A new generation, like Julius.”

Tubruk’s expression eased a little, but Brutus was shocked at the depth of the bitterness and sadness he had seen revealed. Tubruk had always been a pillar of certainty in the lives of the boys. He struggled to find the right words to say.

“We will make a Rome that you can be proud of,” he said. Tubruk reached up and gripped his outstretched arm.

“Oh, to be young again,” he said, smiling. “Come on home, Aurelia will be thrilled to see you so tall and strong.”

“Tubruk? I . . .” Brutus hesitated. “I won’t stay for long. I have enough coin to get lodgings in the city.”

Tubruk glanced at him, understanding. “This is your home. It always will be. You stay as long as you want.”

The silence stretched again as they walked toward the estate buildings.

“Thank you. I wasn’t sure if you’d expect me to make my own way now. I can, you know.”

“I know, Marcus,” Tubruk replied, smiling as he called out for the gates to be opened.

The young man felt a weight lift from him. “They call me Brutus now.”

Tubruk put out his hand and Brutus took it in the legionary’s grip.

“Welcome home, Brutus,” Tubruk replied.

He led Brutus into the kitchens while the water was heated for his bath, motioning him to a chair while Tubruk cut meat and bread for him. He was hungry himself after the axe work, and they ate and talked with the ease and comfort of old friends.

*      *      *

The heat seemed to batter at his skin as Julius inspected the six new recruits. The African sun even made his armor painful to touch, and anywhere the metal made contact with his skin was an agony until he could shift it.

Nothing of his discomfort showed in his expression, though the first doubts tugged at his concentration as he looked at the men he’d found. They were strong and fit enough, but not one of them had been trained as a soldier. For his plan to work, he needed a force of fifty at least and had begun to believe that he would get them. The trouble was, they needed to take orders and make war with the sort of discipline the
Accipiter
officers took completely for granted. Somehow, he had to impress upon them the simple fact that they would die without it.

Physically, they were impressive enough, but only two of the six had volunteered and these from the last village. He expected there to be more as they came to resemble a proper Roman half-century, but the first four had come because he had insisted on it, and they were still angry. The second village had seemed happy to be rid of the largest of them, and Julius guessed he was a troublemaker. His expression seemed set in a constant sneer that irritated Julius every time he saw it.

Renius would have beaten them into shape for him, he thought. That was a start. He had to think what Renius would do. Gaditicus and the others from
Accipiter
had followed him this far, hardly believing how easy it had been after the first settlement. Julius wondered how many Romans in all the hundreds of retirement farms had sons who could be taught to fight. There was an army out there and all that was needed was for someone to find them and remind them of the call of blood.

He stopped next to the troublemaker and saw how the eyes met his with polite inquiry and not a trace of fear or respect. He towered over most of them, his limbs long and lithely muscled, shining with sweat. The biting flies that tormented the officers of
Accipiter
seemed not to trouble him at all, and he stood like a statue in the heat. The man reminded him of Marcus to some extent. He looked every inch a Roman, but even the Latin he spoke was a corrupted mix of African dialect and phrases. Julius knew his father had died and left him a farm that he had neglected to the point of ruin. Left alone, he would have been killed in a fight or joined the pirates when the last of the money and wine ran out.

What was the man’s name? Julius prided himself on learning them quickly, as he had once seen Marius do for every man under his command, yet under the cool stare, he couldn’t think of it at first. Then it came to him. He had told them to call him Ciro, giving no other. He probably didn’t even know it was a slave name. What would Renius do?

“I need men who can fight,” he said, looking into the brown eyes that returned his glare so steadily.

“I can fight,” Ciro replied, his confidence obvious.

“I need men who can keep their temper in a crisis,” Julius continued.

“I can—” Ciro began.

Julius slapped him hard across the face. For a moment, anger flared in the dark eyes, but Ciro held himself still, the muscles of his bare chest twitching like a great cat’s. Julius leaned close to him.

“Do you want to take up a sword? Cut me down?” he whispered harshly.

“No,” Ciro replied, and the calm was back once more.

“Why not?” Julius asked, wondering how to reach him.

“My father . . . said a legionary had to have control.”

Julius stayed where he was, though his thoughts spun wildly. There was a lever here.

“You didn’t have control in the settlement where we found you, did you?” he said, hoping he had guessed correctly about Ciro’s relationship with the villagers. The big man said nothing for a long time, and Julius waited patiently, knowing not to interrupt.

“I wasn’t . . . a legionary then,” Ciro said.

Julius eyed him, looking for the insolence he had come to expect. It was missing and silently he cursed the Senate for wasting men like these, who dreamed of being legionaries while wasting their lives in a strange land.

“You are not a legionary,” Julius said slowly, and saw the mouth begin to twist in response to the rejection, “but I can make you one. You will learn brotherhood with me and from me, and you will walk the streets of the distant city with your head high. If anyone stops you, you will tell them you are a soldier of Caesar’s.”

“I will,” Ciro said.

“Sir.”

“I will, sir,” he said, and stood tall.

Julius stood back to address the recruits, standing with the waiting officers of
Accipiter.

“With men like you, what can’t we achieve? You are the children of Rome and we will show you your history and your pride. We will teach you the gladius and battle formations, the laws, the customs, the life. There will be more to come and you will train them, showing what it means to be of
Rome.
Now we march. The next village will see legionaries when they see you.”

The line of pairs was ragged and out of step, but Julius knew that would improve. He wondered if Renius would have seen the need in the new men, but dismissed the thought. Renius wasn’t here. He was.

Gaditicus waited with him, falling in beside as they brought up the rear of the column.

“They follow you,” he noted.

Julius turned quickly to him. “They must, if we are ever to crew a ship and take back our ransoms.”

Gaditicus snorted softly, clapping his hand on Julius’s armor.

Julius faltered and stopped. “Oh no,” he whispered. “Tell them we’ll catch them up. Quickly!”

Gaditicus gave the order and watched as the double file of Romans marched away along the path. They were quickly out of sight around a bend and Gaditicus turned to Julius enquiringly. He had gone pale and shut his eyes.

“Is it the sickness again?” Gaditicus asked.

Julius nodded weakly. “Before . . . the last fit, I tasted metal in my mouth. I can taste it now.” He hawked and spat, his expression bitter. “Don’t tell them. Don’t . . .”

Gaditicus caught him as he fell, and held him down as his body jerked and twisted, his sandals cutting arcs in the undergrowth with the violence of their movement. The biting flies seemed to sense his weakness and swarmed around them. Gaditicus looked around for something to jam between Julius’s teeth, but the cloth they had used on
Accipiter
was long gone. He wrenched up a heavy leaf and managed to get the fibrous stalk across Julius’s mouth, letting it fall in as the mouth champed. It held and Gaditicus bore down with all his weight until the fit was over.

Finally, Julius was able to sit up and spit out the stalk he’d almost bitten through. He felt as if he had been beaten unconscious. He grimaced as he saw his bladder had released, and thumped his fists into the earth in fury, scattering the flies before they darted back in at his exposed skin.