Kitabı oku: «The Death of Kings»

CHAPTER ONE

The fort of Mytilene loomed above them on the hill. Points of light moved on the walls as sentries walked their paths in the darkness. The oak and iron gate was shut and the single road that led up the sheer slopes was heavily guarded.

Gaditicus had left only twenty of his men on the galley. As soon as the rest of the century had disembarked, he had ordered the corvus bridge pulled in and Accipiter slid back from the dark island, the oars barely splashing in the still sea waters.

The galley would be safe from attack while they were gone. With all lights forbidden, she was a blot of darkness that enemy ships would miss unless they came right into the small island harbour.

Julius stood with his unit, waiting for orders. Grimly, he controlled his excitement at seeing action at last after six months of coastal patrol. Even with the advantage of surprise, the fort looked solid and dangerous and he knew scaling the walls was likely to be bloody. Once more, he examined the equipment, testing each rung of the ladders he had been issued, moving amongst the men to make sure they had cloths tied around their sandals for silence and better grip on the climb. There was nothing out of place, but his men submitted to the checks without complaint, as they had twice before since landing. He knew they would not disgrace him. Four were long-term soldiers, including Pelitas who had ten years of galley experience behind him. Julius had made him the second in the unit as soon as he realised the man had the respect of most of the crew. He had previously been overlooked for promotion, but Julius had seen the quality behind the casual approach to uniform and the quite astonishingly ugly face on the man. Pelitas had quickly become a staunch supporter of the new young tesserarius.

The other six had been picked up in Roman ports around Greece, as Accipiter made up her full complement. No doubt some of them had dark histories, but the requirements for a clean record were often ignored for galley soldiers. Men with debts or disagreements with officers knew their last chance for a salary was at sea, but Julius had no complaints. His ten men had all seen battle and to listen to them tell their stories was like a summary of the progress of Rome in the last twenty years. They were brutal and hard, and Julius enjoyed the luxury of knowing they wouldn’t shirk or turn away from the dirty jobs – like clearing the Mytilene fort of rebels on a summer night.

Gaditicus walked through the units, speaking to each officer. Suetonius nodded at whatever he was told and saluted. Julius watched his old neighbour, feeling fresh dislike but unable to pin it to any one thing in the young watch officer. For months, they had worked together with a frosty politeness that now seemed unbreakable. Suetonius still saw him as the young boy he and his friends had tied and beaten a lifetime before. He knew nothing of his experiences since then and had sneered as Julius told the men what it was like to come into Rome at the head of a Triumph with Marius. The events in the capital were only distant rumour to the men on board and Julius felt he wasn’t believed by some of Tonius’ friends. It was galling, but the first hint of tension or fighting between units would have meant demotion to the ranks. Julius had kept his silence, even when he heard Suetonius telling the story of how he had once left the other tesserarius swinging from a tree after cracking his head a few times. His tone had made the incident seem nothing more than a little rough fun between boys. He had felt Julius’ gaze on him at the end and pretended surprise, winking at his Second as they went back to their duties.

As Gaditicus walked over to the last of his units, Julius could see Suetonius grinning behind his shoulder. He kept his own eyes on the centurion and saluted stiffly as he stood to attention. Gaditicus nodded to him, returning the salute with a quick motion of his right forearm.

‘If they don’t know we’re here, we should be able to burn out that little nest before dawn. If they’ve been warned, we’ll be fighting for every step. Make sure the armour and swords are muffled. I don’t want them giving the alarm while we’re on the exposed flanks of that place.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Julius replied smartly.

‘Your men will attack the south side. The slope’s a little easier there. Bring the ladders in quickly and have a man at the bottom of each one to hold them steady so you don’t have to waste time looking for a firm footing. I’m sending Suetonius’ men to kill the gate sentries. There are four of them, so it could be noisy. If you hear shouts before you’re close to the wall, sprint. We must not give them time to organise. Understand? Good. Any questions?’

‘Do we know how many are in there, sir?’ Julius asked.

Gaditicus looked surprised.

‘We’re taking that fort whether they have fifty or five hundred! They haven’t paid taxes for two years and the local governor has been murdered. Do you think we should wait for reinforcements?’

Julius coloured with embarrassment. ‘No, sir.’

Gaditicus chuckled bitterly. ‘The navy is stretched thin enough as it is. You’ll get used to never having enough men and ships if you live through tonight. Now, move to your position and take a wide berth around the fort, using cover. Understand?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Julius replied, saluting again. Being an officer, even the lowest rank, was difficult at the best of times. He was expected to know his business, as if the ability came with the rank. He had never assaulted a fortress before by day or night, but was supposed to make decisions on the instant that could mean life or death for his men. He turned to them and felt a fresh surge of determination. He would not let them down.

‘You heard the centurion. Silent progress, split formation. Let’s go.’

As one, they thumped their right fists into their leather breastplates in acknowledgement. Julius winced at the small sound they made.

‘And none of that noisy business either. Until we are in the fort, any orders I give are not to be acknowledged. I don’t want you singing out “Yes, sir” when we’re trying to move silently, all right?’

One or two grinned, but the tension was palpable as they made their slow and careful way through the cover. Two other units detached with them, leaving Gaditicus to command the frontal attack once the sentries had had their throats cut.

Julius was thankful for the endless training drills as he saw the smooth way the men separated in pairs, with four of the long ladders to each unit. The soldiers could run up the wide rungs at almost full speed and it would take only seconds to reach the top of the black walls and get into the fort. Then it would be vicious. With no way of knowing how many rebels faced them, the legionaries would be looking to kill as many as possible in the first few moments.

He signalled with a flat palm for the men to crouch as one of the sentry torches stopped close to their position. Sounds would carry easily, despite the rhythmic screech of the crickets in the grass. After a short pause, the sentry light moved on again and Julius caught the eyes of the closest officers, nodding to each other to begin the attack.

He stood and his heart beat faster. His men rose with him, one of them grunting slightly with the weight of the sturdy ladder. They began to trot up the broken rock of the southern approach. Despite the muffling cloths on their sandals and armour, the thud of feet seemed loud to Julius as he broke into a light run beside his men. Pelitas was in the lead, at the head of the first ladder, but the order changed second by second as they scrambled up the uneven surface, denied even the light of the moon to see the ground. Gaditicus had chosen the night well.

Each of the ladders was passed quickly through the hands of the man in front, who planted the trailing end close to the wall for maximum height. The first man held it steady while the second swarmed up into the darkness. In only a few seconds, the first group were over and the second ready to go, their climb made harder as the ladders slipped and scraped on the stone. Julius caught one as it moved and bunched his shoulders to hold it until the weight at the top had gone, appreciating the sharp reality of levers in the process. All along the line, the soldiers were disappearing into the fort and still the alarm had not been given.

He shifted the ladder until the padded head caught on something and gripped it tightly as he climbed, having to lean close with the sharp angle. He didn’t pause at the top in case archers were sighting on him. There was no time to judge the situation as he slid over the crown and dropped into the darkness below.

He hit and rolled to find his men around him, waiting. Before them was a short stretch of scrub grass, grown long over ancient stones. It was a killing ground for archers and they needed to be out of it quickly. Julius saw the other units had not paused and had crossed to the inner wall. He frowned. It stood as tall as the first, only twenty feet away, but this time the ladders were outside and they were trapped between the walls, as the ancient designers had planned. He swore softly to himself as the men looked to him for a quick decision.

Then a bell began to ring in the fort, the heavy tones booming out into the darkness.

‘What now, sir?’ Pelitas said, his voice sounding bored.

Julius took a deep breath, feeling his own nerves settle slightly.

‘We’re dead if we stay here and they’ll be throwing torches down soon to light us up for archers. You’re best in the rigging, Peli, so get your armour off and see if you can carry a rope up the inner wall. The stones are old, there should be a few gaps for you.’ He turned to the others as Pelitas began to undo the lacing that held his armour together.

‘We need to get that ladder back. If Peli falls, we’ll be easy targets for the archers. It’s a fifteen-foot wall, but we should be able to lift the lightest pair of you to the top, where they can reach over and drag it up.’

He ignored the growing sounds of panic and battle inside the fort. At least the rebels were concentrating on Gaditicus’ attack, but time had to be running out for the soldiers on his side.

The men understood the plan quickly and the heaviest three linked arms and braced their backs against the dark stones of the outer wall. Two more climbed up them and turned carefully so they too were able to lean against the wall behind them. The three at the bottom grunted as the weight came to bear on their armour. The metal plates bit into the men’s shoulders, but without them there was a good chance of snapping a collarbone. They bore the discomfort in silence, but Julius saw they could not hold for long.

He turned to the last pair, who had taken off their armour and stripped down to underclothing and bare feet. Both grinned with excitement as Julius nodded to them and they set about climbing the tower of men with the same speed and efficiency that they brought to the rigging of Accipiter. He drew his sword as he waited for them, straining to see into the darkness above.

Twenty feet away on the inner wall, Pelitas pressed his face against the cold, dry stone and began a short and desperate prayer. His fingers shook as they held a tiny space between slabs and he fought not to make any noise as he heaved himself higher, his feet scrabbling for purchase. His breath hissed between his teeth, so loudly he felt sure someone would come to investigate. For a moment, he regretted bringing the heavy gladius as well as the rope wrapped around his chest, though he couldn’t think of anything worse than reaching the top without a weapon. Falling off onto his head in a great crash was a similarly unpleasant prospect, however.

Above him, he could see a dark lip of stone dimly outlined against the glow of torches as the fort sprang to defend itself from the fifty led by Gaditicus. He sneered silently to himself. Professional soldiers would already have sent scouts around the perimeter to check for a second force or an ambush. It was good to take pride in your work, he thought.

His hand searched blindly above, finally finding a good grip where a corner had crumbled away over the centuries. His arms quivered with exhaustion as Pelitas placed a palm at last on the top slab and hung for a moment, listening for anyone standing close enough to gut him as he pulled himself into the inner fort.

There was nothing, even when he held his breath to listen. He nodded to himself and clenched his jaw as if he could bite through the fear he always felt at these times, then heaved up, swinging his legs around and in. He dropped quickly into a crouch and drew the gladius inch by inch, to avoid sound.

He was in a well of shadow that left him invisible on the edge of a narrow platform with steps leading down to the other buildings on two sides. The remains of a meal on the ground showed him there had been a sentry in place, but the man had obviously gone to repel the front attack instead of staying where he had been told. In his head, Pelitas tutted at the lack of discipline.

Moving slowly, he unwound the heavy rope from his chest and shoulders and tied one end to a rusted iron ring set in the stone. He tugged on it and smiled, letting the loops drop into the dark.

Julius saw that one of the other units was pressed close to the inner wall and was following his idea to retrieve the ladders. Next time, they would have a rope attached to the top rung to throw over the wall, the last man pulling the whole thing after them, but it was easy to be wise in hindsight. Gaditicus should have spent more time learning the layout of the fort, though that was difficult enough as nothing overlooked the steep Mytilene hill. Julius dismissed the doubt as disloyal, but a part of him knew that if he was ordering the attack, he would not have sent his men to take the fort until he knew everything there was to know about it.

The faces of the three men at the bottom of the tower were streaked in sweat and contorted with shuddering pain. Above, he could hear scratching sounds and then the length of ladder came sliding down to them. Quickly, Julius braced it against the wall and the tower dismantled down it, leaving the three at the bottom gasping in relief and rolling their shoulders against cramp. Julius went to each of them, clapping arms in thanks and whispering the next stage. Together, they crossed to the inner wall.

A voice yelled close in the darkness of the inner fort above them and Julius’ heart hammered. He did not understand the words, but the panic was obvious. Surprise had finally gone but they had the ladder and as he flattened himself against the wall he saw Pelitas hadn’t failed or fallen.

‘Move the ladder a few feet and make it steady. Three to climb the rope here. The rest with me.’

They ran to the new point and suddenly the air was cut with arrows whistling overhead, punching into the bodies of the other group bringing their ladder over. Screams sounded as the Romans were picked off. Julius counted at least five archers above, their job made easier as torches were lit and thrown down into the killing ground. There was still darkness under the inner wall and he guessed the rebels thought they were defending the first assault and didn’t know the Romans were already below them.

Julius stepped onto the ladder, his gladius gripped tightly as he climbed the wide rungs. A memory flashed into his mind of the riot that had killed his father years before. So this is what it was like to be first up a wall! He pushed the thoughts aside as he came to the top and quickly threw himself down to miss an axe aimed to decapitate him. Losing balance, he scrabbled on the wall for a terrifying moment and then he was in.

There was no time to take stock of the position. He blocked another axe blow and kicked out hard as the weight of the weapon swung the wielder to one side. It crashed down on stone and his sword slid easily into the heaving chest of the enemy. Something hit him on the helmet, snapping his cheek-guard. His vision blurred and his sword came up to block automatically. He felt wet blood run down his neck and chest to his stomach but ignored it. More of his unit reached the narrow walkway and the cutting began properly.

Three of his unit formed a tight wedge around the top of the ladder, their light armour denting under heavy blows. Julius saw a gladius jerked up into a jaw from below, impaling one of the rebels.

The men they faced wore no common uniform. Some sported ancient armour and wielded strange blades, while others carried hatchets or spears. They were Greek in appearance and shouted to each other in that liquid language. It was messy and Julius could only swear as one of his men fell with a cry, blood spattering darkly in the torchlight. Footsteps crashed and echoed all round the fort. It sounded as if there was an army in there, all running to this point. Two more of his men made the walkway and launched into the fight, pushing the enemy back.

Julius jabbed his gladius tip into a man’s throat in a lunge Renius had taught him years before. He hit hard and furiously and his opponents flailed and died. Whatever they were, the men they faced were winning only with numbers. The Roman skill and training was making the core of soldiers round the ladder almost impossible to break.

Yet they were tiring. Julius saw one of his men yell in frustration and fear as his sword jammed between the plates of an ornate set of armour, probably handed down from generation to generation since the time of Alexander. The Roman wrenched at it viciously, almost knocking the armoured rebel from his feet with the movement. His angry shout changed abruptly to a scream and Julius could see the rebel punching a short dagger into his man’s groin under the armour. Finally the Roman went limp, leaving his gladius still wedged.

‘To me!’ Julius shouted to his men. Together they could force a path along the narrow walkway and move deeper into the fort. He saw steps nearby and motioned to them. More men fell to him and he began to enjoy the fight. The sword was a good weight. The armour gave him a sense of being invulnerable and with the hot blood of action in his system, it sat lightly on him.

A sudden blow to his head removed the damaged helmet and he could feel the cool night air on his sweating skin. It was a pleasure, and he chuckled for a moment as he stepped in and barged a man’s shield, knocking him into the path of his fellows.

‘Accipiter!’ he shouted suddenly. Hawk. It would do. He heard voices echo it and roared it again, ducking under a fore-curved sword that looked more like a farm implement than a weapon of war. His return stroke cut the man’s thighs open, dropping him bawling on the stones.

The other legionaries gathered around him. He saw eight of his unit had made the wall and there were six others who had survived the archers. They stood together and the rebels began to waver in their rushing as the bodies piled around them.

‘Soldiers of Rome, we are,’ grunted one of them. ‘Best in the world. Come on, don’t hang back.’

Julius grinned at him and took up the shout of the galley name when it was begun again. He hoped Pelitas would hear them. Somehow, he didn’t doubt the ugly bastard had survived.

Pelitas had found a cloak on a hook and used it to cover his tunic and drawn sword. He felt vulnerable without his armour, but the men who clattered past didn’t even glance at him. He heard the legionaries growl and shout their challenges nearby and realised it was time to join the fight.

He lifted a torch from a wall bracket and joined the enemy rush to the clash of blades. Gods, there were a lot of them! The inner fort was a maze of broken walls and empty rooms, the sort of place that took hours to clear, with every step open to ambush and arrow fire. He rounded a corner in the darkness, ignored and anonymous for precious moments. He moved quickly, trying not to lose his sense of direction in twists and turns, and then found himself on the north wall, near a group of archers who were firing carefully, their expressions serious and calm. Presumably, the remnants of Gaditicus’ force were still out there, though he could hear Roman orders snapped out in the yard by the main gate. Some had got in, but the battle was far from over.

Half the town must have holed up in the fort, he thought angrily as he approached the archers. One looked up sharply at his approach, but only nodded, firing unhurriedly into the mass of men below them.

As he aimed, Pelitas charged, knocking two of the men headfirst to the stones below. They hit with a crash and the other three archers turned in horror to see him as he threw back the cloak and raised the short gladius.

‘Evening, lads,’ he said, his voice calm and cheerful. One step brought his sword into the chest of the closest. He kneed the body off the wall and then an arrow thumped into him, tearing straight through his side. Only the flights jutted from his stomach and he groaned as his left hand plucked at them, almost without his control. Viciously, he swiped the gladius through the throat of the closest archer, who was raising his own arrow.

It was the last and furthest from him who had fired the shaft. Feverishly, he tried to notch another, but fear made him clumsy and Pelitas reached him, sword held out for the thrust. The man backed away in panic and screamed as he fell from the wall. Pelitas went down slowly onto one knee, his breathing rasping painfully. There was no one near and he laid down his sword, reaching around himself to try and snap the arrow. He would not remove it completely. All the soldiers had seen the rush of blood that could kill you when you did. The thought of catching it every time he turned made his eyes water.

His grip was slippery and he could only bend the wooden shaft, a low moan of agony escaping him. His side was soaked in blood and he felt dizzy as he tried to stand up. Growling softly, he eased the arrow back through himself, so it wasn’t sticking so far out behind.

‘Have to find the others,’ he muttered, taking a deep breath. His hands quivered with the beginnings of shock, so he gripped the gladius as tightly as possible and wrapped his other fist in a fold of the cloak.

Gaditicus backhanded a man in the teeth as he ran at him, following through with a short thrust into the ribs. The fort was filled with rebels, more than the small island would support, he was sure. The rebellion must have picked up firebrands from the mainland, but it was too late to worry now. He remembered the young officer’s question about numbers and how he’d scorned it. Perhaps he should have organised reinforcements. The outcome of the night wasn’t easy to predict.

It had started well, with the sentries taken quickly, almost in the same heartbeat. He had ten men over the ladders and the gate open before anyone inside knew what was happening. Then the dark buildings had vomited soldiers at them, pulling on their armour as they ran. The narrow walkways and steps made the maze an archer’s dream, with only the poor light holding their casualties down to flesh wounds, though he’d lost one man to a shaft into his mouth, straight through his skull.

He could hear his men panting as they pressed close to a wall in darkness behind him. Some torches had been lit, but apart from the occasional arrow fired blindly the enemy had retreated for the moment into the side buildings. Anyone rushing down the path between them was going to be cut to pieces before they made a few paces, but equally the enemy could not leave the shelter to engage the legionaries. It was a temporary lull and Gaditicus was pleased to have the chance to get his breath back. He missed the fitness of the land legions. No matter how you drilled and exercised on a ship, a few minutes of fighting and running left you exhausted. Or maybe it was just age, he acknowledged wryly to himself.

‘They’ve gone to ground,’ he muttered. It would be bitter from now on, killing from building to building, losing one of theirs for every one or two of the enemy. It was too easy for them to wait inside a door or a window and stab the first thing to come through.

Gaditicus was turning to the soldier behind to give orders when the man looked down, his mouth dropping in horror. The stones were covered in shining liquid that streamed quickly through the group and sluiced down between the fort buildings. There was no time to make a plan.

‘Run!’ Gaditicus yelled to the group. ‘Get high! Gods, run!’

Some of the younger men gaped, not understanding, but the experienced ones didn’t wait to find out. Gaditicus was at the back, trying not to think about the archers waiting for just this moment. He heard the crackle and whoosh of fire as they lit the sticky fluid and arrows whined past him, taking a legionary in the lower back. The soldier staggered on for a moment before collapsing. Gaditicus stopped to help him, but as he turned his head he saw flames racing towards them. He drew his sword quickly through the soldier’s throat, knowing it was better than burning. He could feel the heat on his back and panic filled him as he rose from the body. His sandals were wet with the stuff and he knew the fire could not be quenched. He ran blindly after his men.

At full pounding sprint, the group of soldiers rounded a corner and charged on, straight at a group of three crouched archers. All three panicked and only one took the shot, sending an arrow above their heads. The archers were cut down and trampled almost without slowing.

On sheets of flame, the fort became visible. Gaditicus and the others roared in anger and relief at being alive, the sound fuelling their strength and frightening the enemy.

The path ended in a courtyard and this time the waiting archers fired smoothly, destroying the front four men and sending the second row sprawling over their dead companions. The yard was full of the rebels and with a baying cry to answer the Romans in ferocity they came on, howling.

Julius froze as he saw the flames explode along a row of squat buildings to his left. The sheltering darkness became flickering gold and shadow and three men in an alcove were suddenly visible a few paces ahead. They were cut down and behind them an open doorway was revealed, leading into the bowels of the fort. It was the decision of a second and Julius ran straight through it, ripping his sword through the guts of a man waiting inside before he could strike. His followers never hesitated. Without knowing the fort, they could spend fruitless minutes searching for ways to reach their comrades with Gaditicus. The most important thing was to keep moving and kill anyone they came across.

After the light of the fire, it was frighteningly dark inside the fortress. Steps led down to a row of empty rooms and at the end was another set, with a single oil lamp on the wall. Julius grabbed it, swearing as the hot liquid spattered onto his skin. His men clattered behind him and at the bottom Julius threw himself down as arrows hit stone around him and shattered, sending stinging fragments into their midst.

The long, low room they entered had three men in it. Two looked terrified at the dirty, blood-covered soldiers and the third was tied to a chair, a prisoner. Julius saw by his robe that he was a Roman. His face and body were battered and swollen, but his eyes were alive with sudden hope.

Julius raced across the room, swaying to avoid another shaft fired poorly and in haste. Almost with contempt, he reached the two men and cut the archer across the throat. The other tried to stab him, but the chestplate took the blow easily and his backhand cut sent the man crashing to the floor.

Julius rested the point of his gladius on the stones and leaned on it, suddenly tired. His breathing came in great gasps and he noticed how silent the place was, how far below the main fort they were.

‘That was well done,’ said the man in the chair.

Julius glanced at him. Up close, he saw the man had been brutally tortured. His face was swollen and twisted and his fingers had been broken, jutting at obscene angles. Trembling shook the man’s body and Julius guessed he was trying not to lose what little control he had left.

‘Cut his bonds,’ he ordered and helped the prisoner to his feet as he came free, noting how unsteady he was. One of the man’s hands touched the arm of the chair and he gave out a moan of agony, his eyes rolling up in his head for a second before he steadied under Julius’ grip.

‘Who are you?’ Julius said, wondering what they were going to do with the man.

‘Governor Paulus. You might say … this is my fort.’ The man closed his eyes as he spoke, overwhelmed by exhaustion and relief. Julius saw his courage and felt a touch of respect.

‘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 grey. 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, signalling to two of the men.

‘Take his arms, gently, carry him if you have to. We must 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 TWO

Sulla 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 cup 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 hypnotised. 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 cup 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 delicious 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 realises 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. 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, tear-stained 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 briefly, 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’ 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 … afterwards?’

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 centre 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.

Gaditicus sighed to himself. Good men lost just to smoke out a few young hotheads trying to live the stories their grandfathers told. He could imagine the speeches they had made, whereas the truth was that Rome brought them civilisation and a glimpse of what man could achieve. All they fought for was the right to live in mud huts and scratch their arses, did they but know it. He didn’t expect them to be grateful, he had lived too long and seen too much for that, but he demanded their respect and the ill-planned mess at the fort had shown precious little of that. Eighty-nine enemy bodies had been burned at dawn. The Roman dead were carried back to the ship for burial at sea.

It was with such angry thoughts buzzing around in his head that he marched into the town of Mytilene in his best armour, with the rest of his depleted century shining behind him. Rain threatened in the form of dark, heavy clouds and the stiflingly hot air matched his mood perfectly.

Julius marched stiffly after the battering he had taken the night before. It amazed him how many small cuts and scrapes he had picked up without noticing. His chest was purple all down the left side and a shiny yellow lump stood out on one of his ribs. He would have Cabera look at it back on Accipiter, but he didn’t think it was broken.

He disagreed with Gaditicus over the need for the march. The centurion was happy to break a rebellion and vanish, leaving someone else to handle the politics, but it was important to remind the town that the governor was not to be touched above all else.

He glanced over at Paulus, taking in the heavily bandaged hands and the still-swollen face. Julius admired him for refusing to be carried in a litter, determined to show himself unbeaten after his torture. Fair enough that the man wanted to come back to town at the head of an army. There were men like him all over Roman lands. They had little support from the Senate and were like small kings who nonetheless depended on the goodwill of the locals to make things happen as they wanted. When that goodwill failed, Julius knew a thousand things could make life very difficult. No wood or food delivered except at sword-point, roads damaged and property burnt. Nothing to turn out the guards for, but constant irritations, like burrs caught in the skin.

From what the governor said of the life, Paulus seemed to enjoy the challenges. Julius had been surprised to note that his main feeling was not anger at his ordeal, but sadness that people he had trusted had turned against him. Julius wondered if he would be so trusting in the future.

The legionaries marched through the town, ignoring the stares and sudden movement as mothers cleared playing children from their path. Most of the Romans were feeling the aches of the night before and were pleased to reach the governor’s home in the centre. They formed a square in front of the building and Julius saw one of the benefits of the post Paulus held in the beauty of the white walls and ornamental pools. It was a piece of Rome, transplanted into the Greek countryside.

Paulus laughed aloud as his children came running to greet him. He went down on one knee, letting them embrace him while he kept his broken hands clear. His wife too came out and Julius could see tears in her eyes, even from the second rank. A lucky man.

‘Tesserarius Caesar, stand forward,’ Gaditicus ordered, startling Julius out of his thoughts. Julius moved quickly and saluted. Gaditicus looked him over, his expression unreadable.

Paulus disappeared into his home with his family and all the ranks waited patiently for him, happy enough to stand in the warmth of the afternoon sunshine with no jobs to be done.

Julius’ mind churned, wondering why he had been ordered to stand out alone and how Suetonius would feel if it was a promotion. The governor was not able to order Gaditicus to give him a new post, but his recommendation was unlikely to be ignored.

At last Paulus returned, his wife walking out with him. He filled his lungs to address all the men together and his voice was warm and strong.

‘You have restored me to my position and my family. Rome thanks you for your service. Centurion Gaditicus has agreed that you may take a meal here. My servants are preparing my best food and drink for you all.’ He paused and his gaze fell on Julius.

‘I witnessed great bravery last night, from one man in particular who risked his own life to save mine. To him, I award the honour wreath, to mark his courage. Rome has brave sons and I stand here today to prove it.’

His wife stepped forward and lifted a circlet of green oak leaves. Julius unfroze and when Gaditicus nodded at him, removed his helmet to accept it. He blushed and suddenly the men cheered, though whether it was at the honour to one of their own or the food to come, he wasn’t sure.

‘Thank you, I …’ he stammered.

Paulus’ wife put her hand on his own and Julius could see where face paint had covered dark circles of worry under her eyes.

‘You brought him back to me.’

Gaditicus barked out the orders to remove helmets and follow the governor to where his staff were setting up the meal. He held Julius back for a moment and, when it was quiet, he asked to see the circlet. Julius handed it to him quickly, trying not to shout out loud with the excitement he felt.

Gaditicus turned the band of dark leaves over in his hands.

‘Do you deserve it?’ he asked quietly.

Julius hesitated. He knew he had risked his life and rushed two men on his own down in the lowest room of the fort, but it was a prize he had not expected.

‘Not more than a lot of the men, sir,’ he replied.

Gaditicus looked closely at him, then nodded, satisfied.

‘That’s a good line, though I will say I was pleased to see you when you flanked the bastards last night.’ He grinned at Julius’ rapidly changing expressions, from delight to embarrassment.

‘Will you wear it under your helmet, or perched on top?’

Julius felt flustered. ‘I … I hadn’t thought. I suppose I will leave it on the ship if there’s action.’

‘Are you sure, now? Pirates will run scared of a man with leaves on his head, perhaps?’

Julius flushed again and Gaditicus laughed, clapping him on the shoulder.

‘I’m only teasing you, lad. It is a rare honour. I’ll have to promote you, of course. I can’t have a lowly watch officer with an honour wreath. I will give you a twenty to command.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ Julius replied, his spirits lifting even further.

Gaditicus rubbed the leaves between his fingers thoughtfully.

‘You will have to wear this in the city some time. It will be expected of you, at least once.’

‘Why, sir? I don’t know the ritual.’

‘It’s what I would do, anyway. The laws of Rome, lad. If you walk into a public event with an honour wreath, everyone must stand. Everyone, even the Senate.’

The centurion chuckled to himself. ‘What a sight that would be. Come in when you’re settled. I’ll make sure they keep some wine for you. It looks like you could do with a drink.’

CHAPTER THREE

In the grey evening light, Brutus scrambled down the side of the building, tearing most of the climbing roses with him. His foot caught in a loop of thorns at the bottom and he fell flat, his sword skidding over the cobbles with a clatter. Wincing, he freed himself before struggling to his feet. He could hear another roar of anger above his head as Livia’s father approached the window and glared down at the intruder. Brutus looked up at him as he tugged at his bracae, yelping as the cloth snagged on a thorn deep in his thigh.

Livia’s father was a bull-like man who carried a heavy axe like a hatchet and was obviously considering whether he could hit Brutus with a good throw.

‘I’ll find you, whelp!’ the man bellowed down at him, practically frothing through his beard in rage.

Brutus backed away out of range and tried to pick up his fallen gladius without taking his eyes off the red-faced Greek. He hitched up his bracae with one hand and found the hilt with the other, wishing he had kept his sandals on for the athletic tumbling about with Livia. If her father was trying to protect her innocence, he was about three years too late, Brutus thought. He considered sharing the information with the man out of spite, but she’d played fair by the young Roman, though she really should have checked the house before dragging him into her room as he passed. As she’d been naked, it had seemed only politeness for him to remove his sandals before they collapsed on the bed, though that courtesy would make escape through the sleepy town something of a problem.

No doubt Renius was still snoring in the room for which Brutus had paid. After five days sleeping in the open, both men had been happy enough to break the journey with a chance for a hot bath and a shave, but it looked as if only Renius would be enjoying those comforts while Brutus went for the hills.

Brutus shifted from one foot to the other uncomfortably as he considered his choices. He cursed Renius under his breath, partly for sleeping during a crisis, but mainly for convincing him that a horse would eat through their savings by the time they reached the coast and found a berth for Rome. Renius had said that a legionary could march the distance without any trouble, but even a thin pony would have been handy for a quick escape.

The angry beard vanished above and while Brutus hesitated, Livia appeared at the window, her skin still flushed from their activities. It was a good healthy glow, Brutus noted idly, appreciating the way she rested her breasts on the sill.

‘Get away!’ she called in a harsh whisper. ‘He’s coming down after you!’

‘Throw my sandals down, then. I can’t run like this,’ he hissed back. After a moment, the articles came flying at him and he laced them in a frenzy, already able to hear the clump of her father’s tread as he came to the door.

Brutus heard the man’s pleased exclamation on finding him still in the yard. Without looking back, he sprinted away, skidding as the iron studs of his soles met the cobbles. Behind, Livia’s father shouted for the town to stop him, which seemed to cause a stir of excitement amongst the locals going about their business. Brutus groaned as he ran. Already there were answering yells and he could hear a number of others had joined the pursuit.

Feverishly, he tried to remember the streets he’d wandered through only hours before, thankful to find anything with cheap rooms and hot food. Livia’s father had seemed pleasant enough then, though he hadn’t been carrying the axe when he showed the tired men to his cheapest room.

Brutus thumped into a wall as he turned a corner at full speed, dodging round a cart and knocking away the grasping hands of its owner. Which way to get out? The town seemed like a labyrinth. He took roads to the left and right without daring to look back, his breath rasping in his throat. So far, Livia had been worth his trouble, but if he was killed, she wasn’t his choice for the last woman in his life. He hoped the father would take his anger out on Renius and wished them both luck.

The alleyway he ran down came to a dead end around a corner. A cat scrambled away from him as he halted against the nearest stone wall and prepared to risk a glance back. There was nowhere to run, but perhaps he’d lost them for the moment. He strained his ears before inching towards the edge, hearing nothing more threatening than the cat’s complaints disappearing into the distance.

He eased one eye around the wall and pulled back at once. The alley seemed filled with men, all heading his way. Brutus dropped down into a crouch and risked a second glance at them, hoping he wouldn’t be seen so low down.

A voice called out in recognition and Brutus groaned again as he pulled back. He’d picked up a little Greek in his time with the Bronze Fist, but hardly enough to talk his way out of the situation.

He made his decision and stood, firming his grip on the sword hilt, his other hand falling to the scabbard where he could fling it away. It was a fine blade that he’d won in a legion tournament and he would have to show the farmers that he’d earned it. He hitched up his bracae one more time and took a deep breath before stepping out into the alley to face them.

There were five of them, their faces filled with the enthusiasm of children as they rushed down the alley. Brutus pulled away the scabbard with a flourish, in case they were in any doubt about his intentions. With great solemnity, he lowered the point at the men and they pulled up as one. The moment held and Brutus thought furiously. Livia’s father had yet to appear and there could be a chance to win free of the younger men before he arrived to encourage them. They might be open to persuasion and even bribery.

The largest of them stepped forward, careful to remain outside the range of the unwavering sword in Brutus’ hands.

‘Livia is my wife,’ he said in clear Latin.

Brutus blinked at him. ‘Does she know?’ he asked.

The man’s face coloured in anger and he produced a dagger from his belt. The others followed his example, revealing clubs and blades that they waved at Brutus whilst beckoning him forward to meet them.

Before they could rush him, Brutus spoke quickly, trying to sound calm and unruffled by the threat.

‘I could kill every one of you, but all I want is to be allowed to go on my way in peace. I’m a legion champion with this pretty blade and not one of you will leave this alley alive if you make the wrong decision.’

Four of them listened with blank faces until Livia’s husband translated the speech. Brutus waited patiently, hoping for a favourable response. Instead, they chuckled and began to edge closer to him. Brutus took a step back.

‘Livia is a healthy girl with normal appetites,’ he said. ‘She seduced me, not the other way around. There is nothing worth killing for in this.’

He waited with the others for the translation to begin, but the husband remained silent. Then the man said something in Greek, which Brutus barely followed. Part of it was certainly to try to keep him alive, which he approved, but the last part involved him being ‘given to the women’, which sounded distinctly unpleasant.

Livia’s husband leered at Brutus. ‘Catching a criminal means a festival for us. You will be the middle … the heart of it?’

As Brutus began to frame a reply, they rushed him with a flurry of blows and, though he pricked one of them with his gladius, a whistling club connected behind his ear and knocked him unconscious.

He woke to a slow creaking and a feeling of dizziness. While his wits returned, he kept his eyes closed, trying to sense his whereabouts without letting unseen watchers know he was alert. There was a breeze playing about a fair portion of his body and he had a sudden suspicion that his clothes had been removed. There could be no reasonable explanation for this and his eyes snapped open despite his intentions.

He was hanging upside down, suspended by the feet from a wooden scaffold in the centre of the town. A surreptitious glance upwards confirmed the fact that he was naked. Everything hurt, and a memory of being hung from a tree when he was a boy came back to make him shudder.

It was dark and somewhere nearby he could hear sounds of revelry. He swallowed painfully at the thought of being part of some pagan ritual and strained at the ropes that held him. Blood pounded in his head with the effort, but there was no give in the knots.

His movement made him spin in a slow circle and he was able to see the whole of the square at intervals. Every house was lit in a show of life far greater than the dull little place he had imagined on arrival. No doubt they were all boiling pig heads and blowing the dust off home-made wines, he thought dismally.

For a moment, he despaired. His armour was back in the room with Renius and his sword had vanished. He had no sandals and his savings would no doubt fund the very celebration that would be the end of him. Even if he could escape, he was naked and penniless in a strange land. He cursed Renius with some enthusiasm.

‘After a refreshing sleep, I have a good stretch and look out of the window,’ Renius said by his ear. Brutus had to wait until he swung round to face him.

The old gladiator was shaved and clean and clearly enjoying himself.

‘Surely, I say to myself, surely that figure hanging by his feet can’t be the same popular young soldier I came in with?’

‘Look, I’m sure you’ll tell a very amusing story to your cronies, but I’d appreciate it if you’d stop rehearsing it and just cut me down before someone stops you.’

The creaking ropes carried Brutus away again. Without a word of warning, Renius sliced the ropes and spilled Brutus onto the ground. Shouts sounded around them and Brutus struggled to rise, pulling himself upright against the scaffold.

‘My legs won’t take my weight!’ he said, trying to rub at each one in turn with desperate energy.

Renius sniffed, looking around.

‘They’d better. With one arm, I can hardly carry you and keep them off at the same time. Keep rubbing. We may have to bluff it through.’

‘If we had a horse, you could tie me to the saddle,’ Brutus retorted, rubbing furiously.

Renius shrugged.

‘No time for that. Your armour’s in this bag. They brought your kit back to the rooming house and I swiped it on my way out. Take your sword and brace yourself against the scaffold. Here they come.’ He passed over the blade and, for all his nude helplessness, Brutus felt a little comfort from the familiar hilt.

The crowd gathered quickly, Livia’s father at the head, carrying his axe in both hands. He tensed enormously powerful shoulders and jerked the blade in Renius’ direction.

‘You came in with the one who attacked my daughter. I’ll give you one chance to gather your things and move on. He stays here.’

Renius stood dangerously still, then took a sharp pace forward, sinking his gladius into the man’s chest so that it stood out behind him. He pulled it out and the man fell face down on the cobbles, the axe head clattering noisily.

‘Who else says he stays here?’ Renius said, looking around the crowd. They had frozen at the sudden killing and there was no response. Renius nodded sternly at them, speaking slowly and clearly.

‘No one was attacked. From the noises I heard, the girl was as enthusiastic as my idiot friend.’ Renius ignored Brutus’ sharp intake of breath at his back, keeping his sweeping gaze locked on the crowd. They barely heard him. The gladiator had killed without a thought and that held the people still.

‘Are you ready to go?’ Renius murmured.

Brutus tested his legs gingerly, wincing at the fire of returning circulation. He began to pull his garments on as quickly as possible, the armour clanking loudly as he searched the bag with one hand.

‘As soon as I’m dressed.’

He knew the moment couldn’t last, but still jumped as Livia came shoving through the people, her voice shrill.

‘What are you doing standing there?’ she screamed at the crowd. ‘Look at my father! Who will kill his murderers?’

Behind her back, Brutus rose, his sword ready. The sweet smiles he remembered from the afternoon had twisted into hatred as she screamed abuse at her own people. None of them met her eyes, their desire for vengeance cooled by the sprawled figure at her feet.

At the edge of the crowd, her husband turned his back on her and stalked away into the darkness. As she saw who it was, Livia turned on Renius, raining blows on his face and body. His only arm held the sword and as Brutus saw the muscles tense, he reached forward and pulled her away.

‘Go home,’ he snapped at her. Instead, her hands reached for his eyes and Brutus shoved her roughly. She fell to the floor near her father’s body and clung to it, weeping.

Renius and Brutus looked at each other and the thinning crowd.

‘Leave her,’ Renius said.

Together, the two men crossed the square and made their way in silence through the town. It seemed hours before they reached the edge of the houses and looked out on a valley leading down to a river in the distance.

‘We should push on. By dawn they’ll be swearing blood feud and coming after us,’ Renius said, finally sheathing his sword.

‘Did you really hear …?’ Brutus asked, looking away.

‘You woke me up with your grunting, yes,’ Renius replied. ‘Your quick tumble could still kill us if they send out decent trackers. In her father’s house!’

Brutus scowled at his companion.

‘You killed him, don’t forget,’ he muttered.

‘And you’d still be there if I hadn’t. Now march. We need to cover as much ground as possible before daylight. And the next time a pretty girl looks twice at you, start running. They’re more trouble than they’re worth.’

Silently disagreeing, the two men set off down the hill.

CHAPTER FOUR

‘Not wearing your wreath? I heard you slept with it,’ Suetonius sneered as Julius came on watch.

Julius ignored him, knowing that a response would lead to yet another exchange that would bring the two young officers closer to open hostility. For the moment, Suetonius at least made the pretence of courtesy when the other men were near enough to hear, but when they stood watch on their own, each second dawn, the bitterness in the man came to the surface. On the first day at sea after leaving the island, one of the men had tied a circlet of leaves to the tip of Accipiter’s mast, as if the whole ship had earned the honour. More than a few of the legionaries had waited around to see Julius catch sight of it and his delighted grin brought a cheer out of them. Suetonius had smiled with the others, but the dislike in his eyes had deepened even further from that moment.

Julius kept his eyes on the sea and distant African coast, changing balance slightly with the movements of Accipiter as the galley rolled in the swell. Despite Suetonius’ snide remark, he had not worn the circlet since leaving the town of Mytilene, except for trying it on once or twice in the privacy of his tiny bunk below the decks. By now, the oak leaves had become brittle and dark, but that didn’t matter. He had been given the right to wear it and would have a fresh one bound when he next saw Rome.

It was easy to ignore Suetonius with the daydream of striding into the Circus Maximus on a race day and seeing thousands of Romans stand, first only as they saw him, then in waves stretching further away until the whole crowd was on its feet. He smiled slightly to himself and Suetonius snorted in irritation.

Even in the dawn quiet, the oars rose and fell rhythmically below them as Accipiter wallowed through the waves. Julius knew by now that she was not a nimble ship, having seen two pirates disappear over the horizon with apparent ease in the months since Mytilene. The shallow draught had little bite in the water and even with the twin steering oars, Accipiter lumbered through changes in direction. Her one strength was sudden acceleration under the oars, but even with two hundred slaves their best speed was no more than a brisk stroll on land. Gaditicus seemed untroubled by their inability to close with the enemy. It was enough to chase them away from the coastal towns and major trade lanes, but it was not what Julius had hoped for when he joined the ship. He’d had visions of swift and merciless hunting and it was galling to realise that the Roman skill for land war did not extend to the seas.

Julius looked over the side to where the double oars lifted high and dipped in unison, carving their way through the still waters. He wondered how they could work the massive blades so steadily for hour after hour without exhaustion, even with three slaves to each one. He had been down to the oar deck a few times in the course of his duties, but it was crowded and foul. The bilges stank of wastes that were washed through twice a day with buckets of sea water and the smell had made his stomach heave. The slaves were fed more than the legionaries, it was said, but watching the rise and fall of the beams in the water, he could see why it was needed.

On the great deck, the blistering heat of the African coast was cut by a stiff breeze as Accipiter fought through a westerly wind. At least from that vantage point, Julius could feel Accipiter was a ship designed for battle, if not speed. The open deck was clear of any obstruction, a wide expanse of wood that had been whitened by the beating sun over decades. Only the far end housed a raised structure, with cabins for Gaditicus and Prax. The rest of the century slept in cramped quarters below, their equipment stored in the armoury where it could be quickly snatched up. Regular drills meant they could go from sleep to battle-readiness in less than one turn of the sand-glass. It was a well-disciplined crew, Julius mused to himself. If they could ever catch another ship, they would be deadly.

‘Officer on deck!’ Suetonius barked suddenly by his ear and Julius came to attention with a start. Gaditicus had chosen a much older man as his optio and Julius guessed Prax couldn’t have more than a year or two before retirement. He had the beginnings of a soft belly that had to be belted tightly each morning, but he was a decent enough officer and had noted the tension between Suetonius and Julius in the first few weeks on board. It was Prax who had arranged that they stand dawn watch together, for some reason he chose not to share with them.

He nodded to the two of them amiably as he walked the long deck, making his morning inspection. He checked every rope that ran to the flapping square sail above them and went down on one knee to make sure the deck catapults were solidly bound and unmoving. Only after the careful inspection was finished did he approach the young officers, returning their salutes without ceremony. He scanned the horizon and smiled to himself, rubbing his freshly shaved chin in satisfaction.

‘Four … no, five sails,’ he said cheerfully. ‘The trade of nations. Not much of a wind to stir those who rely on it alone, though.’

Over the months, Julius had come to realise that the genial outlook hid a mind that knew everything that went on in Accipiter, above and below decks, and his advice was usually valuable after you had waited through the casual openings. Suetonius thought he was a fool, but appeared to be listening with avid interest, a manner he adopted for all the senior officers.

Prax continued, nodding to himself, ‘We’ll need the oars to get to Thapsus, but it’s a clear run up the coast then. After dropping off the pay-chests, we should make Sicily in a few weeks if we don’t have to chase the raiders off our waters in the meantime. A beautiful place, Sicily.’

Julius nodded, comfortable with Prax in a way that would have been impossible with the captain, despite the moment of familiarity after Mytilene. Prax had not been present at the storming of the fort, but he seemed not to have minded. Julius supposed he was happy enough with the light duties on Accipiter as he waited to retire and be dropped off at a legion near Rome to collect his outstanding pay. That was one benefit of hunting pirates with Gaditicus. The seventy-five denarii the legionaries were paid each month mounted up without much opportunity to spend it. Even after expenses for equipment and the tithe to the widows and burials fund, there would be a tidy sum available for most men when their time was up. If they hadn’t gambled it all away by then, of course.

‘Sir, why do we use ships that can’t catch the enemy? We could clear out the Mare Internum in less than a year if we forced them to close with us.’

Prax smiled, seemingly delighted by the question.

‘Close with us? Oh, it happens, but they’re better seamen than we are, you know. There’s every chance they’ll ram and sink us before we can send our men over. Of course, if we can get the legionaries on their decks, the fight is won.’

He blew air out slowly through puffed cheeks as he tried to explain. ‘It’s more than just lighter, faster ships we need – though Rome won’t be sending funds to lay keels for them in my lifetime – it’s a professional crew to man the oars. Those three vertical banks they use so precisely, can you imagine what our muscular slaves would do with them? They’d be a splintered mess the first time we tried to hit our best speed. With our way, we don’t need to train experts, and from the point of view of the Senate we don’t need to pay salaries to them either. One sum to buy the slaves and the ship practically runs herself thereafter. And we do sink a few of them, though there always seem to be more.’

‘It just seems … frustrating at times,’ Julius replied. He wanted to say it was madness for the most powerful nation in the world to be outsailed by half the ships on the oceans, but Prax kept a reserve that prevented the comment, despite his friendliness. There was a line not to be crossed by a junior, though it was less obvious than with some.

‘We are of the land, gentlemen, though some like myself come to love the sea in the end. The Senate see our ships as transport to take our soldiers to fight on other lands, as we did at Mytilene. They may come to realise that it is as important to rule the waves, but as I said, not in my lifetime. In the meantime, Accipiter is a little heavy and slow, but so am I and she’s twice my age.’

Suetonius laughed dutifully, making Julius wince, but Prax seemed not to notice. Julius felt a breath of memory at Prax’s words. He remembered Tubruk had said something similar once, making him hold the dark earth of the estate in his hands and think of the generations that had fed it with their blood. It seemed a lifetime of experience away. His father had been alive then and Marius had still been a consul with a bright future. He wondered if someone was tending their graves. For a moment, the dark currents of worry that were always washing against his thoughts came to the surface. He reassured himself, as he always did, that Tubruk would look after Cornelia and his mother. He trusted no one else half as much as that man.

Prax stiffened slightly as his gaze swept the coast. His amiable expression disappeared, replaced by hardness.

‘Get below and sound the call-out, Suetonius. I want every man on deck ready for action in five minutes.’

Wide-eyed, Suetonius saluted smartly and strode to the steep steps, climbing nimbly down. Julius looked where Prax pointed and he narrowed his eyes. On the coast, a pall of black smoke was rising into the morning air, almost unmoved by wind.

‘Pirates, sir?’ he asked quickly, guessing the answer.

Prax nodded. ‘Looks like they’ve raided a village. We may be able to catch them as they come away from shore. You could get your chance to “close” with them, Caesar.’

Accipiter stripped for action. Every loose piece of equipment was stowed away securely, the catapults were winched down and stones and oil prepared for firing. The legionaries gathered quickly and a picked team assembled the corvus, hammering iron spikes between the sections until the great boarding ramp was ready, standing high above the deck. When the holding ropes were released, it would fall outwards onto the timbers of an enemy ship, embedding its holding spike immovably. Over it would come the best fighters on Accipiter, smashing into the pirates as fast as possible to make a space where the rest could jump on board. It was a perilous business, but after every action the places for those first over were hotly contested and changed hands in gambling games as a high stake in dreary months.

Below, the slave-master called for double time and the oars moved in a more urgent rhythm. With the wind coming off the coast, the sail was dropped and reefed neatly. Swords were checked for cracks and nicks. Armour was tied tightly and a growing excitement could be felt on board, held down by the long-accustomed discipline.

The burning village was on the edge of a natural inlet and they sighted the pirate ship as it cleared the rocky promontories and reached the open sea. Gaditicus ordered full attack speed to cut down the enemy’s room to manoeuvre as much as possible. Caught as they were against the coast, there was little the pirate ship could do to avoid Accipiter as she surged forward and a cheer went up from the Romans, the boredom of slow travel from port to port disappearing in the freshening breeze.

Julius watched the enemy ship closely, thinking of the differences Prax had explained. He could see the triple columns of oars cut the choppy sea in perfect unison despite their differing lengths. She was taller and narrower than Accipiter and carried a long bronze spike off the prow that Julius knew could punch through even the heavy cedar planking of the Roman ships. Prax was right, the outcome was never certain, but there was no escape for this one. They would close and drop the corvus solidly, putting the finest fighting men in the world onto the enemy deck. He regretted that he hadn’t managed to secure a place for himself, but they had all been allocated since before the landing at Mytilene.

Lost in thought and anticipation as he was, he did not at first hear the sudden changes in the lookout calls. When he looked up, he took a step back from the rail without realising it. There was another ship coming out of the inlet as they passed it in pursuit of the first. It was coming straight at them and Julius could see the ram emerge from the waves as it crashed through them at full speed, with sail taut and straining to aid the oarsmen. The bronze spike was at the waterline and the deck was filled with armed men, more than the swift pirates usually carried. He saw in a second that the smoke had been a ruse. It was a trap and they had sprung it neatly.

Gaditicus didn’t hesitate, taking in the threat and issuing orders to his officers without missing a beat.

‘Increase the stroke to the third mark! They’ll go right by us,’ he barked and the drummer below beat out his second fastest rhythm. The ramming speed above it could only be used in a brief burst before the slaves began to collapse, but even the slightly slower attack pace was a brutal strain. Hearts had torn before in battles and when that happened, the body could foul the other rowers and put an entire oar out of sequence.

The first ship was quickly growing closer and Julius realised they had reversed oars and were moving into the attack. It had been a well-planned ruse to draw the Roman ship close to the shore. No doubt the chests of silver in the hold were the prize, but they would not be won easily.

‘Fire catapults at the first ship on my order … Now!’ Gaditicus shouted, then followed the path of the rocks as they soared overhead.

The lookout at the prow called, ‘Two points down!’ to the two teams and the heavy weapons were moved quickly. Sturdy pegs under them were hammered through their holes and others placed to hold the new angle. All this as the winches were wound back once more, with legionaries sweating as they heaved against the tension of a rope of horsehair twice as thick as a man’s thigh.

The pirate vessel loomed as the catapults released again. This time, the porous stones were drenched in oil and burned as they curved towards the enemy trireme, leaving smoke trails in the air behind. They struck the enemy deck with cracks that could be heard on Accipiter, and the legionaries working the catapults cheered as they wound them back again.

The second trireme rushed towards them and Julius was sure the ram would spear Accipiter in the last few feet of her stern, leaving them unable to move or even counterattack by boarding. They would be picked off by arrow fire, pinned and helpless. As that thought struck him, he called to his men to bring up the shields to pass out. In boarding, they were more of a hindrance than a help, but with Accipiter caught between two ships that were moving into arrow range, they would be needed desperately.

A few seconds later, arrows began to spit into the air from both of the enemy triremes. There was no order or aiming to them, just the steady firing high into the air with the hope of pinning a legionary under one of the long black shafts.

The ramming ship alone would have slid astern in clear seas, but obstructed from the front by the first trireme, Accipiter had to dodge, with all the oars on one side ordered to reverse. The strokes were clumsy, but it was faster than simply having them raised clear while the other side brought Accipiter round. It slowed them down, but Gaditicus had seen the need to head for the outside line, or he would be caught between the two ships as the second pulled alongside.