The Field of Swords by Conn Iggulden
“Your mother is here,” Julius said.
Brutus stopped his brushing and looked at him. His face tightened with sudden knowledge. “To see me, or to see you?”
“Both, Brutus.”
“So you raise your fist to my mother and now she comes crawling back into your bed, is that it?”
Julius tensed with anger. “Just once, think before you speak to me. I will not suffer your anger this time, Brutus, I swear it. One more word in that tone and I will have you hanged in this courtyard. I’ll pull the rope myself.”
Brutus turned to face him and Julius saw he was unarmed. He was glad of it. He spoke with a terrible slowness, as if each word was forced out of him.
“You know, Julius, I have given you a great deal. Do you know how many battles I have won for you? I’ve been your sword all the years of my life, and I have never been anything but loyal. But the first moment you feel a prick of anger, you threaten me with a rope?”
He leaned very close to Julius.
“You forget yourself. I’ve been there from the beginning. And what has it gained me? Do you praise my name as you do Mark Antony’s? Do you give me the right flank when I risk my life for you? No, you come out here and treat me like your dog.”
Julius could only stare at the pale rage he saw. Brutus’s mouth twisted in bitter mockery.
“Very well, Julius. You and she are none of my concern. She made that perfectly clear to me before. But I will not stay here to watch you spend the winter . . . renewing your relationship. Is that sweetly enough phrased for you?”
For a moment, Julius could not answer him. He wanted to find words to ease the pain in his friend, but after his threats they would have been worthless. In the end, he set his jaw and retreated behind coldness.
“I will not keep you, if you want to go,” he said.
Brutus shook his head. “No, it would be unpleasant for the pair of you having me as a witness. I will travel down to Rome until spring. There is nothing holding me here.”
“If that is what you want,” Julius said.
Brutus did not reply, simply nodding and turning back to his brushing. Julius stood in painful silence, knowing he should speak. Brutus muttered softly to his horse, easing the bit into its mouth. As he mounted, he looked down at the man he revered above all others.
“How will it end this time, do you think? Will you hit her?” he said.
“It is not your concern,” Julius replied.
“I don’t like to see her treated as one of your conquests, Julius. When will you be satisfied, I wonder? Even Gaul is not enough for you, with another twenty ships being built. Campaigns are meant to end, Julius, or did no one ever tell you that? Legions are meant to come home when the war is over, not find another one and another.”
“Go to Rome,” Julius replied. “Rest the winter. Just remember that I will need you in the spring.”
Brutus unrolled a fur cloak and tied it tight around his shoulders before mounting. He had enough gold in his pouch to buy food on the journey south, and he wanted to leave. Yet when he gathered the reins in his hands and looked down at the miserable face of his friend, he knew he could not dig in his heels and leave him there without speaking again.
“I’ll be here,” he said.
Crassus and Pompey traveled back to Rome the following morning, leaving Julius the full run of the house. Within a week, he had settled into a routine of writing letters and reports in the morning with Adàn and spending the rest of the day with Servilia. He traveled with her to the shipyards in the west, and for those weeks it was as if they were a newly married couple. Julius blessed the fact that she had come to him. After the exhaustion of his campaigns in Gaul, it was a pure joy to visit the theaters in a Roman city and listen to his own language in every mouth of the markets. It made him yearn to see Rome again, but even in Ariminum he had to be careful. If the moneylenders of his city found that he was back in the country, they would demand a settlement, and he had very little left to tide his men over the winter.
Julius knew his one advantage lay in the fact that men like Herminius wanted their money more than his blood. If he were taken and brought back to the city, they would end up with nothing. Even so, his men wore cloaks over their distinctive armor in public and Julius avoided the houses of those who might have known him.
He reveled in Servilia and their lovemaking was like water in a desert. He could not quench his thirst and the scent of her was on his skin and in his lungs at all times. As the winter began to ease and the days lengthened, the thought of parting from her was almost a physical pain. At times, Julius thought of taking her with him, or arranging visits to the new lands he was taking for Rome. Thousands of other settlers were already farming stretches of the virgin soil, and he could promise at least some comfort.
It was just a dream and they both knew it, even as they fantasized about establishing a small house for her in the Roman provinces. Servilia could no more leave the city than the Senate could. It was part of her; away from it, she was lost.
Through her, Julius learned how far Clodius and Milo had come in their domination of the poorer areas. He hoped Pompey’s confidence was not misplaced and wrote to him again pledging support if Pompey wanted to force a vote for Dictatorship. Though Julius knew he could never fully trust the man, there were few others with the strength and ability to control their tempestuous city and the offer was genuine. Having Pompey as Dictator was far preferable to anarchy.
By the time the winter frosts had begun to lessen, Julius was already tired of the pale imitation of Rome that was Ariminum. He hungered for the mountain snows to clear, though the end of winter brought a secret guilt and fear. Each day that passed brought him closer to the point when he would either see his oldest friend return or know he would have to cross the mountains without him.
CHAPTER 35
_____________________
Brutus had shed his cloak for the last stage of the ride south to Rome. Though the air was still sharp, it had nothing like the bite of Gaul and the exertion of riding kept him warm. His original mount had been left far behind at the first legion post on the Via Flaminia. He had paid to have the gelding looked after and would collect the horse as his final change on his return. The system had allowed him a remount every thirty miles, and he had made the journey in only seven days.
After his first joy at walking through the city gate, everything had soured as soon as he took in his surroundings. Rome looked the same in many ways, but his soldier’s instincts had brought an immediate prickling alarm. Alexandria’s letters should have prepared him for the changes, but she had not managed to convey the sense of raw panic that hung in the air. Half the men he passed were armed in some way or another. It was something a trained eye could spot at a glance. They walked differently with a concealed blade and Brutus could feel a tension he had never before experienced on the streets of his home. No one lingered or talked on street corners. It was almost a city under siege and unconsciously he copied the crowds as he hurried to Alexandria’s shop.
He knew a moment of fear when he found it boarded up and empty. Passersby heard him calling, but not one of them dared to meet his eyes. Even the beggars were missing from the streets and Brutus stood still as he considered the implications. The city was terrified. He had seen it before amongst those who knew a war was coming.
Even knocking on the doors of the other shops in the road was worrying. The owners looked sick with nervousness at the sight of him, and three of them only stared blankly as he tried to ask where Tabbic had gone. The fourth was a butcher who held a heavy cleaver defensively the whole time Brutus was in his shop. The iron blade seemed to give him a confidence the others lacked, and he directed Brutus to an area many streets away. Brutus left him still holding the weapon.
Out in the road, the feeling intensified again. When he had been in Greece, the veterans talked of an “itch” that told them trouble was coming. Brutus felt it tickle him as he marched through the thin crowds.
The new shop was much larger and occupied two full floors of a well-kept tenement. Brutus raised his hand to knock and saw the door was open. He narrowed his eyes then and drew his gladius silently. He’d rather look a fool than go unprepared into a dangerous situation, and by that point he was jumping at shadows.
The interior was five times the size of the little shop Tabbic had owned before. Brutus edged inside, his gaze fastening on the figures at the far end. Alexandria and Tabbic were there, with two other men. Facing them were four others, of a type he had seen too often in the streets outside. None of them had seen him and Brutus forced himself to walk slowly toward the group, passing the huge new forge that lurked against the wall and threw heat at him as he passed. Its crackle hid the slight noise of his sandals on the stone floor, and he was very close when one of the men stepped forward and pushed Alexandria down.
With a shout, Brutus raced forward and the four men spun to face him. Two carried knives and two had swords like his own, but he did not pause in his rush. Alexandria shouted wildly at him and only the desperation in her voice made him hold his first blow.
“No, Brutus! Don’t!” she cried.
The men who threatened her were professionals, he saw. They moved aside so as not to be exposed to blades from behind as they faced him. Brutus lowered his sword and stepped into their range as if he had nothing to fear.
“What goes on here?” he demanded, glaring at the man who had pushed her.
“None of your concern, boy,” one of them said, jerking his sword in Brutus’s direction to make him flinch. Brutus regarded him impassively.
“You really haven’t the first idea who you are speaking to, have you?” he said, grinning nastily. His sword tip cut small circles in the air as he held it lazily at his side. The tiny movement seemed to draw the gazes of the other men, but the one who had spoken held his eyes, not daring to look away. There was something terrible in the way Brutus stood so casually before their blades, and his confidence intimidated all of them.
“Who are they, Ria?” Brutus said, without looking at her.
“Collectors for Clodius,” she replied as she stood up. “They are demanding more money than we have. More than we earn. But you mustn’t kill them.”
Brutus frowned. “Why not? No one would miss them.”
One of the raptores answered him. “Because that pretty girl wouldn’t like what our friends would do to her, boy. So put your sword—”
Brutus cut the man’s throat and stood without expression as he collapsed, watching the others. Though he was only inches from their blades, not one of them dared to move.
“Anyone else want to make threats?” he said.
They stared wide-eyed at him and they could all hear the ghastly choking sounds coming from the floor. No one looked down.
“Oh gods, no,” he heard Alexandria whisper.
Brutus ignored her, waiting for one of the men to break the stillness that held them. He had seen Renius intimidate groups before, but there were always fools. He watched as the men shuffled backward away from him until they were out of range of his gladius. Brutus took a sharp step toward them.
“No little taunts now, lads. No calling out as you go. Just leave. I’ll find you if I have to.”
The men exchanged glances, but none of them broke the silence as they walked past the forges to the street door. The last to pass through closed it quietly behind him.
Alexandria was pale with anger and fear.
“That’s it, then,” she said. “You don’t know what you’ve done. They’ll come back with more and burn this place down. Gods, Brutus, did you not hear what I said?”
“I heard, but I’m here now,” he replied, wiping his sword on the cooling body at his feet.
“For how long? We have to live with them when you’ve gone back to your legions, don’t you realize that?”
Brutus felt a flare of anger start in him. He’d had just about enough of being criticized from Julius.
“I should have just watched, then? Yes? I’m not who you think I am if you expect me just to stand there while they threaten you.”
“He’s right, Alexandria,” Tabbic broke in, nodding to Brutus. “There’s no taking it back now, but Clodius won’t just forget us, or you. We’ll have to sleep in the workshop for the next few nights. Will you stay with us?”
Brutus eyed Alexandria. It wasn’t exactly the homecoming he had imagined on his ride south, but then he shrugged.
“Of course. It will save me rent, at least. Now, am I going to get a welcoming kiss or not? Not from you, Tabbic, obviously.”
“First, get rid of that body,” Alexandria said.
She had begun to shake with reaction and Tabbic placed a kettle on the forge to make her a hot drink. Brutus sighed and took hold of the corpse by its ankles, dragging it over the stone flags.
When he was out of earshot, Teddus leaned close to Alexandria.
“I’ve never seen anything that fast,” he said.
She looked at him, accepting the cup of hot spiced wine from Tabbic’s hands. “He won Caesar’s tournament; remember it?”
Teddus whistled softly to himself. “The silver armor? I can believe it. I won a bit on him myself. Will you be wanting me to stay tonight? It could be a long one when Clodius finds out about his man.”
“Can you stay?” Alexandria asked.
The old soldier looked away, embarrassed. “Of course I can,” he said gruffly. “I’ll fetch my son as well, with your permission.” He cleared his throat to cover his discomfort. “If they send men for us tonight, we could do with someone up on the roof as a lookout. He’ll be no trouble up there.”
Tabbic looked at the pair of them and nodded as he came to a decision. “I’m going to take my wife and children to her sister’s house for a few days. Then I’ll drop in on the old street and see if I can’t bring a couple of stout lads back for tonight. They might relish the chance to hit back for once, you never know. Lock the door behind me when I’ve gone.”
Clodius’s men came in force in the dark, with torches to burn the shop to the ground. Teddus’s son clattered down the back stairs to shout a warning, and Brutus swore aloud. He had retrieved his silver armor from the last posting house by the city walls and now fastened the buckles and ties on the chestplate as he readied himself. He looked around at the motley group that had assembled by Tabbic’s forges. The jeweler had brought four young men back from the shops along the old road. They carried good blades, though Brutus doubted they could do much more than hack wildly with them. In the last hour before darkness had fallen, he had taught them the value of a repeated lunge and had them practice until their stiff muscles had loosened. Their eyes shone in the lamplight as they watched the silver-armored warrior stand before them.
“We’ll have to go out and meet them if they’ve come to burn. This place is wood-framed and we’d better have water buckets ready in case they get through. If there are enough of them, it could be . . . difficult. Who’s coming?”
The four lads Tabbic had brought raised their new swords in response, and Tabbic nodded. Teddus raised his hand with them, but Brutus shook his head.
“Not you. One more won’t make a difference outside, but if they get past us, someone has to be here for Alexandria. I don’t want her alone.”
Brutus looked at her then and his face tightened with disapproval. She had refused to go with Tabbic’s wife and children, and now he feared for her.
“If they come, Teddus will hold them while you get to the back stairs, all right? His son will guide you down to the alleys and you may get clear. That’s if you are still staying? This is no place for you if they come in a mob. I’ve seen what can happen.”
His warning frightened her, but she raised her chin in defiance. “This shop is mine. I won’t run.”
“If they come past us, you’ll have to,” he said gently. “I don’t want to be worrying about what they’ll do to you.”
Before she could reply, the shouting rose in the street outside and Brutus sighed. He drew his gladius and rolled his neck to loosen the muscles.
“Right then, lads. On your feet. Do what I tell you and you’ll have a memory to cherish. Panic and your mothers wear black. Is that clear?”
Tabbic chuckled and the other men nodded mutely, in awe of the silver general. Without waiting for them, Brutus strode across the echoing floor and flung the door open. Orange flickers reflected in the metal he wore as he went out.
Brutus swallowed dryly as he saw how many men had been sent to make an example of them. The approaching crowd staggered to a stop as he came out and stood before them, his five men forming a single rank at his sides. It was one thing to terrify shop owners in the backstreets, quite another to attack fully armed soldiers. Every man in the crowd recognized the silver armor Brutus wore, and their shouts and laughter died away to nothing. Brutus could hear the crackling of their torches as they watched him, their eyes catching the dim orange light and shining like those of a pack of dogs.
Renius had said once that one strong man could handle a mob, if he took the initiative and kept it. He had also admitted that the most successful bluff could be called when a crowd could hide behind their numbers. No man seriously expected to die when he was surrounded by his friends, and that confidence could lead to a rush against swords that no single one of them would have dared. Brutus hoped they had not been drinking. He took a deep breath.
“This is an unlawful assembly,” Brutus bellowed. “I am the general of the Third Gallica and I tell you to go back to your homes and families. I have bowmen on the roof. Do not shame yourselves attacking old men and women in this place.”