The Gods of War (33 page)

“In my experience,” Brutus said airily, “Julius is not in the habit of consulting his juniors on every decision. His letters have brought a garrison from Greece to Egypt. Whether they are an escort home or a force of occupation, I really do not care. Until his return, they are your responsibility.”

Malice glinted in Octavian's face and Brutus sat up in his chair, anticipating the first crack in the calm. Nothing would give him more pleasure than to have Octavian sent home in disgrace. Regardless of circumstances, the Senate would be harsh with any man who disobeyed an order from his appointed commander. If Octavian drew his sword or raised a fist, he would be finished.

Octavian saw the eagerness and at first controlled his dislike. He was on the point of saluting when his anger surfaced uncontrollably.

“Is it that you don't want to see the faces of men you fought with as a traitor?” he snapped. “Is that why you won't go out to see them?”

Brutus smiled slowly in triumph. “Now, is that any way to speak to your superior, boy? Is it? I think you have gone a little too far today. I suppose I should demand an apology, in case Julius asks me about it afterwards.”

Octavian was not a fool. Brutus watched him weigh the difference in their ages and positions. The younger man made a decision and became calm.

“You are not fit for your rank,” Octavian said. “He should have known better than to trust you again.”

With infinite satisfaction, Brutus rose. It had been an enjoyable month of goading the younger man, but he had known the moment would come.

“I can have Domitius come in here and do this formally, or you and I can go out to find a quiet place and I'll teach you manners. What's it to be?”

Octavian had come too far to back down from any threat. He tapped his fingers on his sword hilt in answer. Brutus grinned, delighted with the morning's work.

“I will enter it in the staff record as a training session,” he said. He gestured to the door. “You go first, boy. I'll be behind you all the way.”

Legion guards saluted automatically as the two men strode past them. Brutus followed Octavian down a flight of stairs and a corridor that still bore the marks of Roman treasure hunting. Brutus rolled his shoulders as he walked, loosening the muscles.

The training yard was busy with men, as it was every morning. Dressed in only loincloths and sandals, the sun-darkened Romans used heavy leather balls and iron weights to keep themselves trim. Others fought in pairs with the lead-weighted practice swords, the clack and clatter loud after the silence of the halls.

“Return to your duties, gentlemen,” Brutus said without taking his eyes from Octavian. He waited patiently as the soldiers put away their equipment and left them alone. He could feel their curiosity, but an audience would shape the manner of the lesson he intended to give. He did not want to feel restrained.

When the last man had left, Octavian turned and drew his sword in a smooth motion, stalking across the sandy ground to one of the fighting circles. Brutus watched him for weakness, reminded that he too had won silver armor in Julius's tournament. He was fast and young, but Brutus drew his own gladius as if it were a part of his arm. He had searched for it amongst Egyptian dead, before the scavengers could bear it away. He had trained through pain to recover the skill for exactly this moment.

Brutus took position opposite Octavian and raised his sword into first position.

“I remember you threatening to have my arm rebroken,” he murmured, beginning to circle. “Would you like to try it now?”

Octavian ignored him, reversing step so quickly that it almost caught Brutus by surprise. The first blow was a test of his strength, with Octavian's weight behind it. Brutus took it easily, with a clang of metal.

“You mustn't tense your hip like that, boy. It restricts your movement,” Brutus said.

For a few moments, they fought in silence as Octavian tried a combination of cuts that ended with a lunge at his knee. Brutus batted the blade aside.

“Better,” he said. “Though I see Domitius has been working with you. He loves that little lunge.”

He saw that Octavian was circling too closely and darted at him. His sword was countered, but Brutus managed to hammer a punch into Octavian's cheek before they broke apart. Octavian touched his face and held up the palm to show there was no blood.

“Are you thinking this is just to be the first cut, boy?” Brutus said. “You're as naive as Julius. Perhaps that's why he likes you.”

As he spoke he began a series of strikes that built in speed. Both men crashed together, and Octavian used his elbow to knock Brutus's head back.

“You're getting old,” Octavian said as they circled once more.

Brutus glared at him, feeling the truth of the words. He had lost the blinding speed of his youth, but he had experience enough to humble one more young dog, he was sure of it. “I wonder if Julius shared his plans with you for when he returns?” he said. Both men were sweating by then. Brutus saw Octavian's eyes narrow and he went on, watching for an attack. “This city is to become the second capital of his empire, did he tell you that? I doubt he bothered. You were always first in line to kiss his feet. What does it matter if you kneel to a general or an emperor?”

The response was fast and the clash of swords went on and on until the breath came hard from Brutus's lungs. There was no weakness in his defense and Octavian could batter all day before he found a way through. The younger man sensed his confidence and backed to the edge of the circle.

“You're a bag of old wind,” Octavian said. “A liar, a traitor, a
coward
.”

His eyes glittered as he waited for the attack, but Brutus only laughed, confusing him.

“Ask him when he returns, then, boy. Ask him what he thinks about your beloved Republic. He told me . . .” They met again and Brutus cut a stripe down Octavian's leg. The blood ran like water and he continued cheerfully, knowing weakness would follow. “He told me the Senate's day was over, but perhaps he will lie to you, to spare your tender pride.”

They circled more slowly and Brutus did not force the pace.

“What did you think, that we were fighting for the Republic?” Brutus asked mockingly. “Maybe once, when we were all young, but he has a queen now and she carries his son.”

“You liar!” Octavian roared, leaping in.

His leg felt like it was on fire, but even through the pain he knew that Brutus was letting him tire himself. A poor stroke let Brutus gash his left hand before he could jerk it back. He clenched the fist in reflex and blood dripped between his knuckles.

“I wonder if I wasn't on the right side at Pharsalus, after all,” Brutus said, switching gaits and leaving Octavian to stumble. He looked dazed, though whether it was the words or the wounds, Brutus did not know.

“Don't pretend to be dying, boy. I've seen that trick a few times before,” he jeered.

Octavian straightened subtly and his sword lashed out in a perfect lunge that Brutus missed. It jolted against his shoulder plate, snapping the leather ties. Brutus swore, before yanking it loose with his free hand and tossing it away.

“That beautiful girl is carrying a son. Now, why would that make you angry?” Brutus paused, breaking the rhythm. “It can't be that you expected to inherit? Mind you, why not? He's bald and ancient compared to you. Why would you not look forward to sitting in his place one day? Gods, it must
eat
at you to know it won't happen. When his son is born, how much time do you think he'll find for a distant relative?”

His laughter was cruel, and against the cry of his instinct Octavian was stung again into an attack. Brutus swayed out of its path and crashed another blow into the same cheek, splitting it.

“You look a proper butcher's shop, did you know?” Brutus said. “You're getting slower every moment.”

They were both panting by then and yet as they met they struck to kill. Brutus kneed upwards into Octavian's groin as they came together, but a lucky blow opened a gash on his leg, making him cry out.

“Hurts, does it?” Octavian snarled at him.

“Stings a little, yes,” Brutus replied, coming in fast.

The swords blurred as they cracked and rang against each other, both men straining with all their strength. Blows landed and cut without being felt in the heat of the struggle. The silver armor dented and then Octavian grunted as Brutus's sword punctured through the metal into his side. He raised a hand to it, gasping. The light in the yard seemed too bright and his legs were wet with blood. He slipped to his knees, expecting the bite of a sword at his throat.

Brutus kicked his gladius away onto the sand and stood looking down at him.

“Nothing that can't be stitched, boy,” he said, resting his hands on his knees. “I wonder if I should break your arm?”

The oval gash in his thigh ached terribly, but he ignored it. He'd lived through worse.

Octavian looked up. “If he wants an empire, I'll give it to him,” he said.

Brutus sighed as he brought back his fist and knocked him onto his back, unconscious. “You really
are
a fool,” he told the supine figure.

                                                      
CHAPTER
31
                                                      

H
orns blew across Alexandria as the royal barge was sighted in the last days of summer. Brutus sent a dozen trim Roman galleys to meet them, and food enough for banquets was given out from the dock stores. The purple sail could be seen from a great distance and hundreds of boats joined the exodus through the mouth of the port, gathering around the queen's ship like a flight of brightly colored birds.

Though the shorter days were on them, the air was still heavy with heat. Cleopatra's slaves fanned her as she stood on deck and watched the fleet come out. Her advancing pregnancy had brought an end to the peaceful days on the Nile, and she could no longer find comfort in any position for long. Julius had learned to tread carefully as her temper frayed, and at the sight of Roman galleys her eyes narrowed in a flash of anger.

“You have brought your army here?” she said, looking at him.

“A tiny part of it,” he replied. “You would not have me leave Alexandria undefended when you come to Rome.”

“My warriors have seen to our defense over the years,” she replied indignantly.

Julius chose his words with care. “I would not take even a small risk with Egypt,” he murmured. “The galleys protect our son's inheritance. Trust me in this. I have given you my oath.”

She felt the child move within her and she shuddered as she listened. Had she lost her throne to the Roman? Egypt had grown tired over five thousand years and she knew her enemies watched for weakness. The young strength of Rome would keep the wolves away from her lands, like a flaming torch thrust into their faces. Julius could fire her blood when he talked of twin capitals, but the sight of his legionaries swarming on her docks made her fear. He could be kind as a man, as a lover, but as a general he was a destroying storm and her city had come to his notice.

Julius saw her shiver and took a shawl from one of her slave girls. He placed it about Cleopatra's shoulders and his tenderness brought tears to her eyes.

“You must believe me,” he said softly. “This is a beginning.”

Legion centuries stood in perfect order on the docks as the queen's crew moored the barge. As Julius and Cleopatra stepped down, the Romans cheered the return of the consul and victor of Rome. A litter was brought for Cleopatra, removing her from the vulgar gaze behind a canopy raised on the shoulders of slaves. Julius stood on her right side, taking in the changes that had occurred in his absence.

The busy port had a sense of order that had been missing before. In the distance, he could see legionaries on patrol. New customhouses had been built or commandeered to control the wealth of trade that came through Alexandria. Brutus had clearly been busy.

As the procession made its way through the city toward the royal palace, the presence of legions became even more obvious. Soldiers stood to attention on every corner, saluting as Julius came into sight. The citizens of Alexandria who might have clustered around their queen were held back by solid barriers at every street mouth, leaving the main path clear.

Julius winced to himself at how the casual efficiency must look to Cleopatra. He had sent his orders to Greece before leaving, but the reality of seeing twenty thousand more of his countrymen descend on the city was strangely disturbing. Alexandria had been an alien place when he arrived. His men were busy turning it into an outpost of Rome.

At the palace, Cleopatra's slaves gathered around her in a flurry of excitement. Her feet hurt and she was weary, but as she stood again on the steps, she turned to Julius before entering the cooler rooms within.

“How can I trust you?” she said.

“You carry my son, Cleopatra. Even if you did not, you are more valuable to me than anything else. Let me protect you.”

She opened her mouth to speak, then thought better of it, compressing her lips into a thin line of disapproval.

Julius sighed. Thousands of his soldiers were in view. “Very well, my queen. Let me show my men, at least.”

Without another word, he knelt on the steps before her.

The tension slid away from Cleopatra as she looked down on his flushed face. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “I have never known a man to kneel with such pride,” she murmured into his ear, making him laugh.

         

Julius summoned his Gaul generals to him after he had eaten and bathed. The new officers from Greece would have to wait a little longer for an audience. He chose the room Brutus had been using in the scribes' quarter and looked around him in interest at the changes as he waited for them to arrive.

Brutus and Domitius entered first, saluting and taking the chairs he offered. Regulus came behind them, his usual grim manner made lighter by Julius's return. Octavian and Ciro took their seats as Domitius poured wine for the rest.

Julius watched them all as they accepted the goblets and raised them in his direction before drinking. They looked fit and dark from the sun, Ciro in particular. He might have passed for one of the native Egyptians. Octavian had a new scar on his cheek that stood out against his skin. Of all of them, his manner was the most reserved and Julius missed the relaxed camaraderie of their years together. He had been away for almost six months and felt uncomfortable at the distance that had grown between them.

“Should I ask for a formal report, gentlemen?” he said. “Or shall we drink and talk until the sun goes down?”

Regulus smiled, but the others were oddly wary. It was Octavian who broke the silence.

“I'm glad to see you back, sir,” he said.

Brutus was staring at the younger man in what could have been polite interest, and Julius wondered what had gone on between them. He did not want to hear of squabbling and bad feeling. His time on the Nile made such things seem trivial.

“The city is quiet, Julius,” Brutus said, “as you might expect with the best part of thirty thousand soldiers here. We've had a few incidents of looting and some of the men are in desert barracks on punishment drills. Nothing that couldn't be handled. We've given them a decent sewage system and brought a little order to the docks. Apart from that, it's been a pleasant rest for some of us. How is the queen?”

Julius nodded to Brutus, pleased at the lack of fuss. “The birth is due in a few weeks, or even less,” he said, his eyes softening at the thought.

“A son and heir,” Brutus said. Julius did not see him glance at Octavian. “You'll have to make peace with Calpurnia when you return.”

Julius nodded, sipping at his wine. The thought of his latest wife weeping on his shoulder was not a pleasant one. “I could not have known this would happen when I married her,” he said, musing. “So much has changed since I set out for Greece.”

“Are we going home then, when the child is born?” Octavian said suddenly.

Julius looked at him, seeing a tension he did not understand. “We are. I will leave two legions here to keep the peace. I'll write to Mark Antony and have him set up the galley routes for pay and orders. By the gods, it will be
good
to see him again. I've missed the old place. Just to speak about it here makes me long to see Rome.”

He seemed to collect himself as he looked around at their earnest faces.

“We will take Pompey's remains back to be buried in the city, and I'll raise a statue to him, perhaps in his own theater. Even now the manner of his death sits poorly with me. I have written to my daughter to tell her, and I will honor him in death, for her sake at least.”

He paused, staring off into space. It had been more than a year since Pharsalus, and the memory of crossing the Rubicon seemed impossibly distant. The hiatus in his life that had come on the slow Nile had changed him, he realized. The other men in the room still had the look of lean wolves, hardened by years of conflict. He did not feel quite in step with them.

“It will be a strange thing to have the Republic restored after so many years of conflict,” Octavian murmured, looking into his wine. “The city will welcome you back as a savior of the old ways.” It took an effort for him to look up into Julius's eyes as his general regarded him thoughtfully.

“Perhaps they will,” Julius said. “I will have to see how things stand when I'm back.” He missed the glimmer of hope in Octavian's eyes as he refilled his cup from a silver jug. “Things change, though,” he went on. “I've had time to think on that slow river. I have been granted the chance to raise Rome higher than any other city. I should not waste it.”

He felt Octavian's stare and raised his cup in salute.

“Alexander's dreams have fallen into my hands here. In this place, I can see further. We could bring the light of Rome to the world.” He smiled, oblivious to Octavian's distress. “Like the Pharos lighthouse,” he said. “We could make an empire.”

“Does this come from the queen?” Octavian said softly.

Julius glanced at him in puzzlement. “My blood is joined in her. Egypt and I are already one. Rome will come with me.” He gestured toward the window with his cup, feeling the wine heat his thoughts. “The years ahead are golden, Octavian. I have seen them.”

“Welcome
back
, sir,” Brutus said.

         

Julius paced up and down the hall of the palace, wincing at every cry from Cleopatra's lips. His son was coming into the world and he could hardly remember being more nervous. Her courtiers had come to wake him in his quarters and he had dressed hurriedly in a toga and sandals, calling for Brutus to attend him.

The two men had come barreling into the meeting hall only to be told that the queen's privacy was not to be interrupted. To Julius's irritation, the door to her chambers was guarded by her own men and he had been left to pace and fret, his empty stomach growling hungrily as the hours wore on. Messengers came and went at the run, carrying steaming pails of water and piles of white linen. Julius could hear the voices of women inside and at intervals Cleopatra cried out in pain. He clenched his fists in frustration and barely noticed the warm tisane that Brutus pressed into his hands.

At dawn, Sosigenes came out, snapping orders for more cloths to a waiting slave. The astrologer was flushed and busy, but a glance at Julius's face brought him up short.

“Your son is coming, Caesar. It is a great omen that he is to be born in the first light of day,” Sosigenes said.

Julius gripped his arm. “Is she well? The birth, is it all right?”

Sosigenes smiled and nodded his head. “You should rest, Consul. You will be called in soon enough. My queen is young and strong, as her mother was. Rest.”

He returned the grip on his arm with a brief pressure of his hand, then he walked past the guards. A long scream could be heard then, which made Julius groan.

“By the gods, I can't bear it,” he said.

“Were you like this when Julia was born?” Brutus asked him.

Julius shook his head. “I don't remember. No, I wasn't, I think. But I am older now. If the child dies, how many other chances will I have?”

“What will he be called then, this son of yours?” Brutus asked, in part to take Julius's mind off the chanting they could hear within. He had no idea what strange rituals were being enacted and it showed the depth of Julius's agitation that he had hardly noticed them.

The question seemed to calm Julius a little. “His name will be Ptolemy Caesarion,” he said, with pride. “Two houses joined.”

“You will show him in the forum,” Brutus prompted.

Julius's face lit up. “I will. As soon as he can be moved, I will take him home. The king of Syria has invited me to visit him and I will take Cleopatra there. Then Crete, perhaps, or Cyprus, Greece, and home at last. We will stand in the forum in a Roman summer and I'll hold the boy up to the crowd for them to see.”

“There will be a struggle ahead if you still intend a dynasty, an empire,” Brutus murmured.

Julius shook his head. “Not now, Brutus. Can't you see it? The legions are loyal to me and the Senate will be handpicked. Whether they realize it or not, the empire is already begun. Who is left to resist my claim, after all? Pompey was the last of them.”

Brutus nodded, his eyes dark with thought.

An hour later Sosigenes came bustling out to them, surprising the guards. The man was beaming as if personally responsible for the events of the night.

“You have your son, Caesar, as I said you would. Will you come in?”

Julius clapped a hand on his shoulder, making him wince. “Show me,” he said.

Brutus did not follow and was left alone to spread the happy news to the legions that had gathered outside in the dawn.

         

Cleopatra lay on her bed with the hangings tied back to give her air. She looked exhausted and dazed, with shadows under her eyes. Her skin was pale and as Julius rushed over to her a slave girl dried the perspiration from her skin, dabbing gently with a cloth.

There were many others in the room, though Julius didn't notice them. Cleopatra's breasts were bared and against one was the baby he had hoped for, the tiny face lost as it pressed against the yielding flesh.

Julius sat on the bed and leaned over them, ignoring the slave girl as she moved away. Cleopatra opened her eyes.

“My beautiful queen,” Julius murmured, smiling. “Sosigenes said it was a boy.”

“The old fool is very proud of himself,” Cleopatra said, wincing as the baby clenched her nipple in its gums. “You have a son, Julius.”

Gently, he reached up and smoothed a tendril of hair from her forehead.

“I have waited all my life for you,” he said to her.

Tears filled her eyes and she laughed at her own reaction. “I seem to cry at the slightest thing,” she said, then grimaced as the baby shifted once more. For an instant, her nipple was revealed before the hungry mouth found it and clamped on, sucking busily. “He is strong,” she said.