Emperor: The Blood of Gods (Special Edition) (Emperor Series, Book 5) (20 page)

Octavian sat down and deliberately ignored the dumbfounded soldier standing with his hands full of gold. He called for the wine jug and Agrippa passed it to him. Maecenas was smiling wryly as they shared the food, each man at the table trying not to look over their shoulders at the figure in the lamplight.

‘What do you think the senators are doing tonight?’ Octavian asked the others as he ate.

Flavius Silva was relieved to be able to reply and spoke quickly through a mouthful of roasted pork.

‘They will bluster at first, I have no doubt,’ he said, chewing. ‘I have dealt with many of the senators over the last month and they will not react well to this challenge. I might advise you to ignore whatever they say for a day or two until they have had time to consider their position, with two legions camped in the centre of Rome.’

‘Whatever they threaten, they have no way of enforcing it,’ Octavian replied, taking a deep gulp of wine and wincing slightly.

Flavius Silva saw his reaction and chuckled. ‘Not so good, I agree. I will find some Falernian tomorrow.’

‘I’ve never tasted it,’ Octavian said.

Maecenas tutted to himself. ‘This is horse piss in comparison, believe me,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I have a few amphorae of it at my estate, laid down three years ago. It should be ready to drink this year, or perhaps next. You’ll see when you come.’

‘Leaving aside the qualities of the wine for a moment,’ Agrippa said, ‘the Senate will ask you what you want, eventually. What
do
you want from them?’

‘The Lex Curiata, first of all,’ Octavian said. ‘I need the law passed so that no one can ever say I am not the legitimate heir to Caesar. In normal times, it is just a formality, but they must still vote and lodge the record. They must also honour the will with Caesar’s funds, or I will pay the legacies myself and shame them. After that, I want only a reversal of the amnesty they granted.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘That small thing.’

‘They will not agree to making criminals of the Liberatores,’ Maecenas muttered into his wine cup. When he felt the eyes of the table on him, he looked up. ‘Men like Cassius have too much support still.’

‘You know these men,’ Octavian said. ‘What would you do?’

‘I would march the centurions in there and whip the Senate out of Rome,’ Maecenas said. ‘You have caught them for a brief moment without power, but there
are
other legions, Caesar. You can’t stop the senators sending messages out of the city and then their supporters will march. How many men are passing information to you now? The Senate have their own clients and I would imagine there is someone on the road to Brundisium as we speak. If Mark Antony moves quickly, he could have legions here in just a few days.’ He looked around the table. ‘Well, you did ask. Either you follow this through to the end and seize your moment, or we will shortly be defending this city from Roman soldiers.’

‘I won’t remove the Senate,’ Octavian said, frowning. ‘Even Julius Caesar kept them on, with all his influence and power. The people won’t welcome us so readily if we set about dismantling the Republic in front of them. If I make myself a dictator, it will force them together to act against me.’

‘You should consider it even so,’ Maecenas said. ‘Take command of the legions one by one as they come in. You have the name and the right to do it.’ He refilled their cups and almost as one they all drank the sour wine. Maecenas saw the two legates exchange a worried glance and spoke again.

‘The Senate will know they only have to hold on for a few weeks before you are faced with loyal legions at the walls. If you don’t execute some of them, they will be deciding your fate before the end of the month. You said you wanted to see the Liberatores brought down? It may not be possible to lay hands on them within the law, not when the Senate have made those laws. Perhaps you could demand the least of them to be turned over into your custody. Hold a trial for them in the forum and let the Senate see that you understand dignity and tradition.’

‘There’s only Gaius Trebonius and Suetonius left in Rome, I think,’ Octavian said slowly. ‘Trebonius did not even wield a blade with the rest. I could take them both by force. But that will not bring me the others, especially those who have been given powerful posts. It will not bring me Cassius or Brutus. All I need is a renunciation of the amnesty and then they can
all
be brought to trial.’

Maecenas shook his head. ‘Then you must be willing to cut a few throats, or at least threaten to do so without bluffing.’

Octavian brought his knuckles up to his eyes, pressing out the weariness.

‘I will find a way, when I have slept.’

He rose from the table, stifling another yawn that spread quickly around the table. Almost as an afterthought, Octavian looked towards the doorway where he had left Gracchus. It was empty. The lamplight lit only the gentle drizzle coming down through the air of the forum.

Pompey’s theatre was at its best at night. The huge semicircles of stone seats were lit by hundreds of lamps swinging high above. Servants had climbed ladders to reach the larger bowls of oil that flickered above the stage itself, creating conflicting shadows that moved in gold and black.

In the absence of Mark Antony, four men stood to face the others and direct the debate. Bibilus and Suetonius had the least right to do so, though Bibilus had been a consul years before. Senators Hirtius and Pansa were not due to take up their consular posts until the new year, but the emergency required the most senior men to put aside differences and they had the attention of the Senate that night. All four had discovered that the position facing the benches gave their voices a new power and resonance and they relished being able to quell discussion with just a sharp word.

‘Consul Mark Antony is not the issue,’ Hirtius said for the second time. ‘Fast messengers are on their way to him and there is nothing more we can do until he has returned. There is no point debating whether he will be successful in punishing the mutinous behaviour at Brundisium. If he has sense, he will have them marching without delay and leave their decimation as a condition of their success in relieving us here.’

Several senators stood up and Hirtius picked a man that he knew would at least add something useful instead of raging pointlessly about factors they could not influence.

‘Senator Calvus has the floor,’ Hirtius said, gesturing to him. The others sat down on the curving benches, though many of them talked among themselves.

‘Thank you,’ Senator Calvus said, staring grimly at two men talking close to him until they broke off in embarrassment. ‘I wished only to remind the Senate that Ostia is closer than the legions at Brundisium. Are there forces there which can be brought in?’

It was Bibilus who cleared his throat to reply. Senator Hirtius nodded to him out of courtesy.

‘In normal times there would be at least a full legion at Ostia. Until two months ago, that legion was the Eighth Gemina, one of the two currently infesting the forum. Caesar’s campaign against Parthia brought in legions from as far away as Macedonia, ready to join the fleet. Ostia has no more than a few hundred soldiers and administrators at the port, perhaps as many again in retired men. It is not enough to scrape these invaders out of the city, even if we could be certain they would remain loyal to us.’

Angry voices answered him and Bibilus wiped sweat from his brow. He had not sat a single day in the Senate until Caesar’s death and he was still not accustomed to the sheer noise and energy of the debates.

Senator Calvus had remained on his feet and Bibilus gave way to him, sitting down with a thump on a heavy bench dragged to the front for that purpose.

‘The question of loyalty lies at the heart of the problem facing us tonight,’ Calvus said. ‘Our main hopes rest with the legions of Brundisium. Yet the consul has gone not to forgive them, but to exact punishment. If he has not suppressed their treachery, we have no other way to bring them back to Rome. It is possible that this adopted son of Caesar knows full well that there will be no help coming from the east. His tactic has all the marks of a wild gamble, unless he knows the Brundisium legions will not come.’ The noise around him had risen and he spoke louder. ‘Please, gentlemen, point out the flaws in what I have said, if they are clearer to you than to me.’

Three more senators rose immediately to reply and Calvus ignored them rather than be forced to sit through the interruptions.

‘It is my feeling that it would be unwise to rest all our hopes on consul Mark Antony. I propose we send messages to legions in Gaul to come south. Decimus Junius has a few thousand men close by the Alps …’

From the stage, Suetonius broke in, speaking easily over Calvus.

‘They would take weeks to get to Rome. However this is resolved, Senator, it will be over long before they could arrive. Is there nothing closer? Given months, we could bring in legions from half the world, but who knows what will have happened by then?’

‘Thank you, Senator Suetonius,’ Hirtius said, his voice cold enough for Suetonius to glance at him and subside. ‘Senator Calvus has raised a valid point. Though there are no other legions within a day’s march of the city, there are two in Sicily, two more in Sardinia that could be ordered home by ship. If the Senate agree, I will send riders to Ostia to bring them in. In two or three weeks at most, there can be four legions here at full strength.’

A rumble of agreement echoed around the theatre and the vote was passed quickly and without dissent. Senator Hirtius summoned a runner while the debate went on and pressed his ring to orders that would be carried west. When he was finished, he listened for a time and then addressed them all.

‘It is almost dawn, senators. I suggest you return to your homes and guards to get some sleep. We will meet again … at noon? Noon it is. No doubt by then we will have heard more from this new Caesar.’

Mark Antony was in a foul mood as his legions marched north, snapping at anyone foolish enough to address him. The Via Appia was a wonder: six paces wide and well drained for hundreds of miles. Only on such a smooth surface could the legions make twenty to thirty miles a day, the legionaries counting off each milestone as they reached it. The problem was that he had not intended to go anywhere near Rome. One dusty and exhausted messenger from the Senate had changed all his plans.

Mark Antony stared into the distance, as if he could see the Senate waiting for his triumphant return. He
felt
them there, like a nest of spiders twitching threads that ran under his feet. He shook his head free of the image, still struggling with sheer disbelief. Octavian had to be insane to have attempted such a rash move! What was the boy thinking? The anger he had caused was there to be read in the Senate orders. Bibilus, Hirtius and Pansa had sealed it with the Senate symbol, the visible sign of their authority over all legions. Mark Antony was ordered back with all speed and one purpose – to destroy the upstart in the forum.

The men ahead began to cheer and Mark Antony dug in his heels and trotted forward to see what had pleased them. The road had been rising gently for most of the morning, cutting through chalk hills in great clefts that represented years of labour. He knew before he saw it, catching a hint of salt on the cool breeze. The Mare Tyrrhenum came into sight at the head of the column, a dark blue vastness on his left shoulder. It meant Rome was no more than a hundred miles further along the road and he would have to decide soon where to rest the men and let the camp followers catch up.

The cheering rippled oddly down the lines of marching men, as each century caught the same view and hollered out for good luck, proud of the pace they had set. Mark Antony drew his mount aside for a time, watching them pass and nodding with stern satisfaction to anyone who sought out his gaze. He had not told them yet that they were going home.

Mark Antony thought in frowning silence, weighing the problems before him. Two full legions had broken their oaths and mutinied for a boy who called himself Caesar. If the name had that sort of effect, he could not trust that the Senate would be able to contain him. All Mark Antony’s instincts told him to strike north, to continue with his original plans against Decimus Junius. The legions of Brundisium had refused to answer orders once already. They’d come close to cutting Mark Antony to pieces when they thought he was one of those who had sanctioned Caesar’s murder. What would they do when they discovered he had been ordered to attack the man’s heir? Gods, it was impossible! The far north under Decimus Junius was ripe for plucking and he had the forces to do it. Yet he dared not leave Octavian with two legions answering to him. The real Caesar had achieved much with fewer men.

He looked back down the marching ranks, taking solace from the sight of thirty thousand soldiers. If they kept discipline, he knew he could force Octavian to surrender. Let the Senate worry about what to do with him after that, he thought. While men like Bibilus debated his fate, there would be no one watching Mark Antony. He could still take the legions north.