Emperor: The Death of Kings E#2 (3 page)

“Not yet it isn’t, sir,” Julius replied. “There’s a lot of fighting above and we have to get back to it. I suggest we find you somewhere safe to wait it out. You don’t look quite up to joining in.”

In fact the man looked bloodless, his skin slack and gray. He was about fifty years old, with heavy shoulders and a sagging stomach. He might once have been a warrior, Julius judged, but time and soft living had taken his strength, at least of the body.

The governor stood straighter, the effort of will obvious. “I’ll go with you as far as I can. My hands are smashed, so I can’t fight, but I want to get out of this stinking pest-hole, at least.”

Julius nodded quickly, signaling to two of the men. “Take his arms, gently, carry him if you have to. We have to get back to help Gaditicus.”

With that, Julius was clattering up the steps, his mind already on the battle above.

“Come on, sir. Lean on my shoulder,” said one of the last pair as he took the weight. The governor cried out as his broken hands moved, then gritted his teeth against the pain.

“Get me out quickly,” he ordered curtly. “Who was the officer who freed me?”

“That was Caesar, sir,” the soldier replied as they began the slow trip. By the end of the first flight of stairs, the pain had forced the governor into unconsciousness and they were able to go much faster.

  CHAPTER
2
  

S
ulla smiled and drank deeply from a silver goblet. His cheeks were flushed with the effects of the wine, and his eyes frightened Cornelia as she sat on the couch he had provided.

His men had collected her in the heat of the afternoon, when she felt the heaviness of her pregnancy most painfully. She tried to hide her discomfort and fear of the Dictator of Rome, but her hands shook slightly on the lip of the glass of cool white wine he had offered her. She sipped sparingly to please him, wanting nothing more than to be out of his gilded chambers and back in the safety of her own home.

His eyes watched her every move and she could not hold the gaze as the silence stretched between them.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked, and there was a slurred edge to his words that sent a thrill of panic coursing through her.

Be calm, she told herself. The child will feel your fear. Think of Julius. He would want you to be strong.

When she spoke, her voice was almost steady.

“Your men have thought of everything. They were very courteous to me, though they did not say why you desired my presence.”

“Desired? What a strange choice of word,” he replied softly. “Most men would never use the word for a woman, what, weeks from giving birth?”

Cornelia looked at him blankly and he emptied his cup, smacking his lips together with pleasure. He rose from his seat without warning, turning his back to her as he refilled his cup from an amphora, letting the stopper fall and roll on the marble floor unheeded.

She watched it spiral and come to rest, as if hypnotized. As it became still, he spoke again, his voice languid and intimate.

“I have heard that a woman is never more beautiful than when she is pregnant, but that is not always true, is it?”

He stepped closer to her, gesturing with the goblet as he spoke, slopping drops over the rim.

“I . . . do not know, sir, it . . .”

“Oh, I have seen them. Rat-haired heifers that amble and bellow, their skin blotched and sweating. Common women, of common stock, whereas the true Roman lady, well . . .”

He pressed even closer to her and it was all she could do not to pull away from him. There was a glitter to his eyes and suddenly she thought of screaming, but who would come? Who would
dare
come?

“The Roman lady is a ripe fruit, her skin glowing, her hair shining and lustrous.”

His voice was a husky murmur, and as he spoke he reached out and pressed his hand against the swelling of the child.

“Please . . .” she whispered, but he seemed not to hear. His hand trailed over her, feeling the heavy roundness.

“Ah yes, you have that beauty, Cornelia.”

“Please, I am tired. I would like to go home now. My husband . . .”

“Julius? A very undisciplined young man. He refused to give you up, did you know? I can see why, now.”

His fingers reached up to her breasts. Swollen and painful as they were at this late stage, they were held only loosely in the
mamillare,
and she closed her eyes in helpless misery as she felt his hands easing over her flesh. Tears came swiftly into her eyes.

“What a de
licious
weight,” he whispered, his voice ugly with passion. Without warning, he bent and pressed his mouth on hers, shoving his fat tongue between her lips. The taste of stale wine made her gag in reflex, and then he pulled away, wiping loose lips with the back of his hand.

“Please don’t hurt the baby,” she said, her voice breaking. Tears streamed out and the sight of them seemed to disgust Sulla. His mouth twisted in irritation and he turned away.

“Take yourself home. Your nose is running and the moment is spoiled. There will be another time.”

He filled his cup from the amphora yet again as she left the room, her sobs almost choking her and her eyes blind with shining tears.

*      *      *

Julius roared as his men charged into the small yard where Gaditicus fought the last of the rebels. As his legionaries hit the rebel flank, there was instant panic in the darkness and the Romans took advantage, bodies falling quickly, ripped apart by their swords. Within seconds, there were fewer than twenty facing the legionaries, and Gaditicus shouted, his voice a bellow of authority.

“Drop your weapons!”

A second of hesitation followed, then a clatter as swords and daggers fell to the tiles and the enemy were still at last, chests heaving, drenched in sweat, but beginning to feel that moment of joyous disbelief that comes when a man realizes he has survived where others have fallen.

The legionaries moved to surround them, their faces hard.

Gaditicus waited until the rebels’ swords had been taken and they stood in a huddled and sullen group.

“Now kill them all,” he snapped, and the legionaries threw themselves in one last time. There were screams, but it was over quickly and the small yard was quiet.

Julius breathed deeply, trying to clear his lungs of the smells of smoke and blood and opening bowels. He coughed and spat on the stone floor, before wiping his gladius on a body. The blade was nicked and scarred, almost useless. It would take hours to rub out the flaws, and he would be better exchanging it quietly for another from the stores. His stomach heaved slightly and he concentrated even harder on the blade and the work to be done before they could return to
Accipiter
. He had seen bodies piled high before and it was that memory of the morning after his father’s death that made him suddenly believe he could smell burning flesh in his nostrils.

“I think that’s the last of them,” Gaditicus said, panting. He was pale with exhaustion and stood bent over with his hands on his knees for support.

“We’ll wait for dawn before checking every doorway, in case a few more are hiding in the shadows.” He rose straight, wincing as his back stretched and clicked. “Your men were late in support, Caesar. We were naked for a while.”

Julius nodded. He thought of saying what it had taken to get to the centurion at all, but kept his mouth tightly shut. Suetonius grinned at him. He was dabbing a cloth to a gash on his cheek. Julius hoped the stitches would hurt.

“He was delayed rescuing me, Centurion,” a voice said. The governor had recovered consciousness, leaning heavily on the shoulders of the two men carrying him. His hands were purple and impossibly swollen, hardly like hands at all.

Gaditicus took in the Roman style of the filthy toga, stiff with blood and dirt. The eyes were tired but the voice was clear enough, despite the broken lips.

“Governor Paulus?” Gaditicus asked. He saluted when the governor nodded.

“We heard you were dead, sir,” Gaditicus said.

“Yes . . . it seemed that way to me for a while.”

The governor’s head lifted and his mouth twisted in a slight smile.

“Welcome to Mytilene fort, gentlemen.”

*      *      *

Clodia sobbed as Tubruk put his arm around her in the empty kitchens.

“I don’t know what to do,” she said, her voice muffled by his tunic. “He’s been
at
her and
at
her all through the pregnancy.”

“Shhh . . . come on.” Tubruk patted her back, trying to control the fear that had leapt in him when he first saw Clodia’s dusty, tearstained face. He didn’t know Cornelia’s nurse well, but what he had seen had given him an impression of a solid, sensible woman who would not be crying over nothing.

“What is it, love? Come and sit down and tell me what’s going on.”

He kept his voice as calm as he could, but it was a struggle. Gods, was the baby dead? It was due any time and childbirth was always risky. He felt coldness touch him. He had told Julius he would keep an eye on them while he was away from the city, but everything had seemed fine. Cornelia had been a little withdrawn in the last months, but many a young girl felt fear with the ordeal of her first birth ahead of her.

Clodia allowed herself to be guided to a bench next to the ovens. She sat without checking the seat for grease or soot, which worried Tubruk even further. He poured a cup of pressed apple juice for her, and she gulped at it, her sobs subsiding to shudders.

“Tell me the problem,” Tubruk said. “Most things can be solved, no matter how bad they might seem.”

He waited patiently for her to finish drinking and gently took the cup from her limp hand.

“It’s Sulla,” she whispered. “He’s been tormenting Cornelia. She won’t tell me all the details, but he has his men bring her to him at any time of the day or night, pregnant as she is, and she comes back in tears.”

Tubruk paled in anger. “Has he hurt her? Hurt the child?” he pressed, stepping closer.

Clodia leaned away from his intensity, her mouth quivering with returning force. “Not yet, but every time is worse. She told me he is always drunk and he . . . places his hands on her.”

Tubruk closed his eyes for a moment, knowing he had to remain calm. The only outward sign was a clenched fist, but when he spoke again, his eyes glittered dangerously.

“Does her father know?”

Clodia took his arm in a sudden grip. “Cinna must not know! It would break him. He would not be able to meet Sulla in the Senate without accusations, and he would be killed if he said anything in public. He cannot be told!”

Her voice rose higher as she spoke and Tubruk patted her hand reassuringly.

“He won’t learn it from me.”

“I have no one else to turn to but you, to help me protect her,” Clodia said brokenly, her eyes pleading.

“You’ve done right, love. She carries a child of this house. I need to know everything that has happened, do you understand? There must be no mistake in this. Do you see how important that is?”

She nodded, wiping her eyes roughly.

“I hope so,” he continued. “As the Dictator of Rome, Sulla is almost untouchable under the law. Oh, we could bring a case to the Senate, but not one of them would dare to argue the prosecution. It would mean death for anyone who tried. That is the reality of their precious ‘equal law.’ And what is his crime? In law, nothing, but if he has touched her and frightened her, then the gods call for punishment even if the Senate would not.”

Clodia nodded again. “I understand that—”

“You
must
understand,” he interrupted sharply, his voice hard and low, “because it means that anything we do will be outside the law, and if it is any sort of attack on the body of Sulla himself, then to fail would mean the deaths of Cinna, you, me, Julius’s mother, servants, slaves, Cornelia and the child—everybody. Julius would be tracked down no matter where he hid.”

“You will kill Sulla?” Clodia whispered, moving closer.

“If everything is as you say, I will certainly kill him,” he promised, and for a moment, she could see the gladiator he had once been, frightening and grim.

“Good, it is what he deserves. Cornelia will be able to put these dark months behind her and bear the child in peace.” She dabbed at her eyes and some of the grief and worry eased from her visibly.

“Does she know you have come to me?” he asked quietly.

Clodia shook her head.

“Good. Don’t tell her what I have said. She is too close to birth for these fears.”

“And . . . afterward?”

Tubruk scratched the short crop of hair on the back of his head. “Never. Let her believe it was one of his enemies. He has enough of them. Keep it a secret, Clodia. He has supporters who will be calling for blood for years later if the truth comes out. One wrong word from you to another, who then tells a friend, and the guards will be at the gate to take Cornelia and the child away for torture before the next dawn.”

“I will not tell,” she whispered, holding his gaze for long seconds. At last she looked away and he sighed as he sat on the bench next to her.

“Now, start from the beginning and don’t leave anything out. Pregnant girls often imagine things, and before I risk everything I love, I need to be sure.”

They sat and talked for an hour in quiet voices. By the end, the hand she placed on his arm marked the beginning of a shy attraction, despite the ugliness of the subject they discussed.

*      *      *

“I had intended to be on the next tide out to sea,” Gaditicus had said sourly. “Not to take part in a parade.”

“You believed me to be a corpse then,” Governor Paulus had replied. “As I am battered but alive, I feel it necessary to show the support of Rome that stands with me. It will discourage . . . further attempts on my dignity.”

“Sir, every young fighter on the whole island must have been holed up in that fort—and a fair few from the mainland as well. Half the families in the town will be grieving for the loss of a son or father. We have shown them well enough what disobedience to Rome means. They will not rebel again.”

“You think not?” Paulus had replied, smiling wryly. “How little you know these people. They have been fighting against their conquerors since Athens was the center of the world. Now Rome is here and they fight on. Those who died will have left sons to take up arms as soon as they are able. It is a difficult province.”

Discipline had prevented Gaditicus from arguing further. He longed to be back at sea in
Accipiter,
but Paulus had insisted, even demanding four of the legionaries to stay with him permanently as guards. Gaditicus had nearly walked back to the ship at that order, but a few of the older men had volunteered, preferring the easier duty to pirate hunting.

“Don’t forget what happened to his last set of guards,” Gaditicus had warned them, but it was a hollow threat, as well they knew after the rebels’ pyre lifted a stream of black smoke high enough to be seen for miles. The job would take them safely to retirement.

Gaditicus cursed under his breath. He was going to be very short of good men for the next year. The old man Caesar had brought on board with him had turned out to be good with wounds, so a few of the injured might be saved from an early release and poverty. He wasn’t a miracle worker, though, and some of the crippled ones would have to be put off at the next port, there to wait for a slow merchant ship to take them back to Rome. The galley century had lost a third of its men in Mytilene. Promotions would have to be made, but they couldn’t replace twenty-seven dead in the fighting, fourteen of them competent
hastati
who had served on
Accipiter
for more than ten years.