Emperor: The Death of Kings E#2 (39 page)

They dismounted to pass through the entrance, a tiled arch leading into an open garden where they could hear the rush of running water hidden by flowering bushes and plants. Julius removed the heavy packs from the horses and shouldered his, with Tubruk taking the other, passing the reins into the hands of the slaves that came to greet them. They were shown to seats in a cool outer chamber and told to wait.

Julius settled himself comfortably, well aware that the senator could ignore their presence for a good part of the day. Tubruk went to a window to look at blooms that Julius thought might appeal to Cornelia around their own home.

A young male slave entered from the inner house and approached the two men.

“Senator Prandus welcomes you, Tribune. Please follow me.”

Tubruk raised his eyebrows in surprise at the speed of the response. Julius shrugged and the two of them followed the slave into a far wing, where the man opened a door for them and bowed as they entered.

Senator Prandus stood with his son in a room that resembled a temple more than a place to live. Rich, swirling marble lined the walls and floor, with the house shrine set into the far wall. The air smelled lightly of a soft and fragrant incense, and Julius breathed it in appreciatively. There was no doubt changes would have to be made at his estate. Every step of his feet brought new and interesting details to the eye, from the bust of an ancestor in the shrine to a collection of Greek and Egyptian relics on a wall that he itched to examine. It was a calculated display of wealth, but Julius took it all in as a guide to the changes he would make and missed the intended effect completely.

“This is unexpected, Caesar,” Prandus began.

Julius dragged his attention from his surroundings and smiled openly at the pair watching. “You have a beautiful home, Senator. Especially the gardens.”

Prandus blinked in surprise, then frowned as he was forced into courtesy. “Thank you, Tribune. I have worked many years to make it so, but you have not said why you are here.”

Julius lifted the pack from his shoulder and dropped it onto the marble floor with an unmistakable chink of coins.

“You know exactly why I am here, Senator. I have come to buy back the land that was sold to you during my confinement with your son.” Julius glanced at Suetonius as he spoke and saw the younger man had his features fixed into an arrogant sneer. Julius did not respond to it, keeping his own face blank. It was the father he would have to deal with.

“I had hoped to build my son a house on that land,” the senator began.

Julius interrupted him. “I remember you saying. I have brought the price you were paid and a quarter again to compensate you for the loss. I will not bargain with you for my land. I will not offer again,” he said firmly, untying the bag to reveal the gold.

“That is . . . a fair settlement,” Prandus said, looking at the bags. “Very well, I will have my slaves remove the boundary.”

“What? Father, you can’t just . . .” Suetonius began angrily.

The senator turned to his son and gripped his arm tightly. “Be silent!” he snapped.

The younger man shook his head in disbelief as Julius approached to take his father’s hand to seal the agreement. Without another word, Julius and Tubruk departed, leaving Suetonius alone with his father.

“Why did you do that?” he asked in furious amazement. His father’s mouth twisted to mirror his own sneer.

“You are a fool, my son. I love you, but you’re a fool. You were there at the trial with me. That man is not someone you want as an enemy. Is that clear enough for you?”

“But what about the house you were going to build? Gods, I’ve spent days with the architects already.”

Senator Prandus looked at his son, his eyes showing disappointment that hurt the younger man worse than a blow. “Trust me, Suetonius. You would have died in that house so close to his lands. Whether you realize it or not, I have kept you alive. I do not fear him for myself, but you are my eldest son and he is too dangerous for you. He frightens Cato and he should terrify you.”

“I’m not scared of Caesar, or his soldiers!” Suetonius shouted.

His father shook his head sadly. “That, my son, is why you are a fool.”

*      *      *

As Julius and Tubruk guided their horses through the estate gate, they heard a shout from the main building. Brutus ran out to meet them and their cheerful greetings died on their lips as they saw his expression.

“Thank the gods you’ve come back,” he said. “The Senate is calling everyone in. Primigenia has to be ready to move.” As he spoke, a slave brought his own mount out and he swung himself into the saddle.

“What’s happening?” Julius snapped as Brutus took up his reins, feeling a surge of excitement.

“A slave rebellion in the north. Thousands of them and hundreds of gladiators who killed their keepers. Mutina has been overrun,” Brutus replied, his face pale under the road dust.

“That’s not possible! There are two legions there,” Tubruk broke in, horrified.

“That was the report. The messengers are out all over, but I thought you’d want the news as fast as I could bring it.”

Julius turned his horse’s head and gripped the reins tightly. “I can’t take away the men guarding my wife, not with the danger of another rebellion spreading here,” he said flatly.

Brutus shrugged. “The order was to have every available soldier ready to march north, Julius, but I’ll forget those ones,” he replied, reaching out to clap his friend’s shoulder in support.

Julius gathered in his reins, ready to dig his heels into the horse’s flanks. “Make the house secure, Tubruk,” he ordered. “If the rebellion spreads, we may come to appreciate the way you have set up the defenses after all. Keep my family safe, as you have done before.”

They shared a moment of private understanding as Tubruk looked into Julius’s eyes. So Brutus couldn’t hear, Julius leaned down over the shoulder of his stallion and whispered into Tubruk’s ear.

“I know what I owe you,” he said. Sulla’s death had saved them all.

“Don’t worry. Now go!” Tubruk replied gruffly, slapping Julius’s horse on the rump. The two young men bent low over the saddles as they kicked their mounts into a full gallop, raising a mist of dust on the road to Rome.

  CHAPTER
34
  

T
he Senate building was buzzing with activity as Julius and Brutus approached. They dismounted at the edge of the forum and led their mounts toward the clustered groups of senators who were coming in from all directions, summoned to the emergency meeting from all over the city and beyond.

“How did you get the news so quickly?” Julius asked his friend as they crossed the space. Brutus looked uneasy, then his head came up.

“My mother told me about it. She has a number of . . . contacts in the Senate. She was probably one of the first to know.”

Julius noted a wariness in Brutus’s manner and wondered at it. The young man had been pressing for a meeting between Servilia and himself, and Julius sensed how important it was to him.

“I really will have to see this mother of yours,” he said lightly.

Brutus flashed him a look, searching for mockery, and then relaxed, satisfied. “She is very interested in meeting you, after that trial. I want you to know her. She is like no one else I’ve met.”

“Perhaps tonight, then, if there’s time,” Julius replied, hiding his reluctance. Tubruk had already offered a number of opinions on the woman, but he owed it to Brutus, if it was something he wanted.

Brutus took the reins of the two horses in one hand as they reached the bottom of the steps. “Come to the barracks afterward, if you can. I’ll have Primigenia ready to march on your orders,” he said. His eyes were bright with an excitement that made Julius chuckle.

“As soon as I’m free,” he said, walking up the steps and into the gloom beyond.

The Master of Debate and the consul were still on their way, so no official discussion had begun as Julius entered the Senate building. Instead, half the full number of his colleagues were clustered in anxious knots, shouting questions and comments to each other in a clatter of noise that only served to heighten the impression of an emergency. There was no order to it, and Julius took the time to visit those he knew, picking up the details that Brutus had not heard.

Pompey was with Crassus and Cinna, engaged in a heated argument. They acknowledged Julius with a nod as he reached them, then the fast-talking continued.

“Of course you’ll have command, my friend. There is no one else of note and even Cato won’t hesitate with only the forces at Ariminum guarding the south,” Crassus said to Pompey.

The sun-dark commander shrugged, his face full of bitter knowledge. “He’d do anything to stop me taking military control, you know that. He must not be allowed to put up his own people. Look what happened in Greece! And the pirates that roam at will, attacking our merchants. If these gladiators are the same ones we failed to put down at Vesuvius, then Mutina was lost because of our timid policy since Sulla’s death. All because Cato blocks the Senate from sending out a general equal to the task. You think this time will be any different?”

“It may be,” Cinna answered him. “Cato has holdings in the north that must be under threat from the slaves. They could even turn south and attack the city. Cato wouldn’t be such an idiot as to ignore a threat to Rome. They must send you out. At least we have the legions back from Greece to join the others.”

“There is the consul, coming in. He must use his veto against Cato if the fat fool interferes. This is more than a personal matter between us. The safety of the north is at stake. The safety of Rome herself.”

Pompey left them, shoving rudely through the gathering senators to speak to the consul as he entered. Julius watched as he met the man, an elder elected to the position as a compromise between the Senate factions. As Pompey spoke to him, his hands moving with his words, the man looked nervous and intimidated. Julius frowned, tapping his fingers against his stomach in tension as the consul turned his back on the gesturing Pompey to step up to the rostrum.

“Take your seats, Senators,” the consul called.

The meeting oath was quickly taken and then the consul cleared his throat to address the tense ranks before him.

“You have been summoned for an emergency meeting to debate a response to the uprising. I have the latest reports with me and they are worrying. It was a revolt of gladiators from a ring school at Capua. At first the local praetor looked as if he could handle it, but he failed to contain the rebellion. It seems they have managed to gather a slave army and flee north. They have plundered a number of towns and estates, killing hundreds and burning anything they could not steal. The legate at Mutina engaged the slaves and the garrison was destroyed with no survivors.”

He paused. Those senators who had not heard the news gasped and shouted in outrage, and the consul raised his hands to calm them.

“Senators, this threat cannot be overstated. The legions at Ariminum have been told to secure the city, but with Mutina gone, the north is completely open. The estimates I have are varied, but they may have as many as thirty thousand slaves under their command, with more coming in as they ravage each town. I can only assume they overwhelmed the Mutina legions with vast numbers. They must be met with the largest force we can muster while still keeping our southern borders secure. I need not tell you that we cannot strip garrisons from Greece without dire risk so soon after their own rebellion.

“At present, they show no sign of turning toward Rome, but if they do so, there are more than eighty thousand slaves who could rally to their cause by the time they reach the south. This is a grave threat and our response must be swift and final.”

The consul glanced quickly at Cato, then Pompey.

“I ask at this time that you put aside your grievances for the good of the city and Roman lands. I call on the Master of Debate to hear the responses.”

The consul sat down, wiping his brow nervously, obviously relieved to be able to pass the meeting to another. The Master of Debate had held his post for a number of years, his experience giving him a detachment that served to cool the hottest tempers. He waited patiently for quiet before choosing his first speaker.

“Pompey?”

“Thank you. Senators, I ask to be given command of the legions sent against these rebels. My record speaks for me as qualification and I urge you to vote quickly. Every soldier of Rome within a hundred miles has been called back to the city. Within a week, we should have an army of six legions to send against the slaves, joining with the two at Ariminum when we reach it. If we delay, this slave army will grow further until it may be impossible to stop. Remember that they outnumber us, Senators, even in our own homes. Grant me the command and I will destroy them in the name of the Senate.”

Pompey sat down to scattered cheers and stamping of feet. He did not respond to the noise, his gaze fixed on the figure of Cato, who had risen slowly, his face flushed.

“Cato to speak,” the Master of Debate confirmed.

“Pompey’s record is indeed a fine one,” Cato began, smiling at the stone-faced senator across the benches. “I agree with him that a force must be assembled and sent to strike quickly before the fire of the rebellion burns the north. However, there are other choices for men to command the force we send, others who bear the rank of general and have experience in fighting for Rome. It strikes me that a man who puts himself forward may not be suitable for such a role. Better we appoint a general who is acceptable to all of us for this difficult task. I confess Pompey’s eagerness makes me uneasy given our recent city history, and instead I suggest the command is handed to Lepidus, fresh returned from Greece.” He sat down in silence before a babble of angry shouts and conversation broke out, with both factions abusing the other.

“Be silent, gentlemen. You do not serve Rome with your spite,” the Master of Debate said across them, bringing a restless stillness back to the benches. He looked around at the seated senators and nodded to Julius, who had risen at the end of Cato’s speech.

“I was a witness to the caution of Lepidus against Mithridates. He was late to engage and had barely moved beyond his landing place when I came upon him to hand over the body of the Greek king. I have seen too many such compromises in this Senate. Lepidus is a poor choice, when we need to move quickly and crush the rebellion before it grows out of control. We must put aside our grievances and factions to grant the command to the one who will achieve most and fastest. That is Pompey.”

The Master of Debate nodded his agreement, dropping his usually impartial stance, but was then compelled to recognize Cato as the man stood again.

“I am concerned that the threat against us is being used as a blind for ambition, Senators. Lepidus will never endanger us when the battles are over, but Pompey may well have his eyes on a future even as we discuss this choice. My vote will be for Lepidus.” The man lowered himself carefully back into his seat, glaring at Julius for a moment.

“Are there any other candidates? If so, let them rise, or we will go directly to a vote.” The Master of Debate waited, his gaze sweeping the rows.

Crassus stood stiffly, ignoring the surprise of Cato’s supporters. He received the nod to speak and crossed his hands behind his back, like a tutor addressing his wards.

“Senators, I fear that politics will bring us to the wrong choice for the city. I do not know who would win a vote between Pompey and Lepidus as commanders, but if it is Lepidus, that could only lead to disaster. I put myself forward as a third candidate to prevent the waste of lives that would surely result from any command by Lepidus. Though I have devoted myself to business in recent years, I too rest on my previous record with the legions, for your approval.”

Once again, the noise of conversation broke out all over the Senate hall as Crassus sat. Pompey was amazed at the revelation from his friend and tried to catch his eye without success as Crassus looked away from him. As the noise died, Pompey stood, his hands tightening into fists unconsciously.

“I withdraw my name from consideration in favor of Crassus,” he said bitterly.

“Then we will move to a vote without further delay. Rise for your choice, gentlemen,” the Master of Debate replied, as surprised as anyone by the turn of events. He waited a few moments more for the senators to make up their minds, then began to call the names.

“Lepidus!”

Julius craned his neck with everyone else still seated to judge the numbers, then breathed out in satisfaction. There were not enough to carry the vote.

“Crassus!” the Master of Debate intoned, smiling to himself.

Julius stood with Pompey and the others who had judged the choice correct. The Master of Debate nodded to the consul, who stood and gripped the rostrum before him.

“Crassus is appointed general of the north armies assembling and is ordered to take the field against the rebellion and destroy it utterly,” the consul said.

Crassus stood to thank the senators.

“I will do my utmost to preserve our lands and the city, gentlemen. As soon as the legions are brought together in the Campus Martius, I will move against the rebels.”

He paused for a moment and smiled slyly.

“I will keep the legates in place under me, but I must have a second-in-command should I fall. I name Gnaeus Pompey as that second.”

Curses and cheers broke out all over, with the calls for quiet from the Master of Debate ignored. Julius laughed at the stroke and Crassus inclined his head toward him in acknowledgment, clearly enjoying himself.

“Keep silence!” the Master of Debate bellowed above them, finally losing his temper. The babble subsided under his glare, but slowly.

“We should move on to the details, Senators,” the consul said, shuffling through his papers. “Our runners report that the slaves are well armed after Mutina, having outfitted themselves with legionary supplies and armor. One of our people claims to have seen the gladiators training the slaves in sword and spear work, mimicking our formations on the field. After Mutina, they should not be underestimated.” The consul licked his fingers nervously as he scanned the sheaf of parchments in front of him.

“Do they have officers?” Pompey called out.

The consul nodded as he read. “It seems they have a structure based on our own legions in every way. I have the original message from the owner of the barracks where the gladiators escaped. It’s here, somewhere.”

The senators waited patiently as the consul found the paper he was looking for.

“Yes, there were seventy of them and all the guards were killed. The barracks slaves went with them, though whether they were willing or forced, the man does not know. He claims to have barely escaped with his own life. It seems these gladiators form the officer class of the army.”

“Who leads this rabble of gladiators?” Pompey demanded, uncaring that his tone went some way to confirm the fiction of Crassus’s leadership.

The consul searched through the papers again, and licked his fingers more than once to separate them.

“Yes, I have it. They are led by a gladiator named Spartacus, a Thracian. He began it and the rest followed him. There is nothing more, but I will pass anything further to Crassus as the reports come in.”

“With your permission, gentlemen, I would like to leave with my second to prepare for the march ahead of us,” Crassus said.

As he turned, he tapped his hand on Julius’s shoulder. “I want Primigenia with me when we go, Julius,” he said quietly.

“They will be ready,” Julius promised.

*      *      *

Crassus lay back in the warmth of the sunken bath, allowing the difficulties of the day to slide away from him. Darkness had come early outside, but the bathing room was lit with softly flickering lamps and candles, the air thick with steam from the water. He rested his arms along the marble sill, enjoying the coolness against his skin. The water came to his neck, but with the smooth stone seat under the surface, he could relax completely. He exhaled slowly, wondering why the pool in his own estate could never be as comfortable.

Servilia sat naked in the water across from him, only her shoulders above the surface. When she moved, the swelling curves of her breasts eased into view for tantalizing moments before they slid down again, blurred by the sweet oils she’d poured for them both. She’d known it was what he wanted as soon as he came to her from his generals, tired and irritable. That had all gone as her fingers worked away the painful spots from his neck before he stepped into the deep pool, set into the floor of a private part of her home. She could always sense his mood.