The Field of Swords. Conn IgguldenЧитать онлайн книгу.
‘You have a legion I helped to rebuild, Julius, when it was still named Primigenia. I have been … persuaded of the need for men in the city. Trained men who cannot be bribed or tempted away by the gangs of raptores.’
‘You claim a debt from me?’ Julius replied, tensing himself to refuse.
Crassus glanced at Servilia and exchanged a look of understanding that Julius could not fathom.
‘No. I waived any debts too long ago to mention. I am asking freely for your help and in return my clients will help to spread your name in the city. You do have only a hundred days, my friend. Even with my aid, that is a short time.’
He saw Julius hesitate and went on: ‘I was a friend to your father and Marius. Is it too much to ask for trust from the son?’
Servilia tried to will Julius to look at her. She knew Crassus better than anyone else in the room and hoped Julius would not be fool enough to refuse him. She watched the man she loved with something like pain as she waited for his reply.
‘Thank you, Consul,’ Julius said formally. ‘I do not forget my friends.’
Crassus smiled in genuine pleasure.
‘With my wealth …’ he began.
Julius shook his head. ‘I have enough for this, Crassus, though I thank you.’
For the first time, Crassus looked at the young general with the beginning of real respect. He had been right in his judgement, he thought. He could work with him and infuriate Pompey at the same time.
‘Shall we toast your candidacy, then?’ Crassus asked, raising his cup.
At Julius’ nod, the rest of them took wine and held the vessels awkwardly as they waited. For a moment, Julius regretted finishing the Falernian, but thought better of it. Tubruk could raise a cup of it to them, wherever he was.
Julia sat out in the darkness of the stables, enjoying the warm comfort that the horses brought. She walked down the stalls and patted their soft muzzles, speaking softly to each one. She paused at the enormous gelding her father’s friend had brought that woman on. It was strange to use the word. Her father. How many times had Clodia told her about the brave man who had been sent away from the city by a consul’s whim? She had made her own pictures of him, telling herself he was held by the bonds of duty and could not return for her. Clodia always said he would come back in the end and everything would be all right, but now that he was there, Julia found him more than a little frightening. As soon as he had put his foot in the dust of the yard, everything had changed and the house had a new master.
He seemed so stern, she thought as she reached up to rub her nose against the gelding’s velvet nostrils. The horse whickered gently in reply and pushed at her, blowing warm air against her face. He was not as old as she had expected. She’d imagined him with grey hair at the temples and the quiet dignity of a member of the Senate.
The night air carried a gust of noise from where the new people had gathered. So many of them! The house had never been so full of visitors, she thought, wondering at them. From her perch on the outer wall, she had watched them come in and shaken her head at so many strangers.
They were a different breed to the visitors Clodia invited, especially the old woman with diamonds at her throat. Julia had seen her father kiss her when he thought no one could see and Julia had felt her throat tighten with dislike. She had tried to tell herself it was just a friendship, but there had been something intimate in the way the woman relaxed against him and Julia’s cheeks had become hot with embarrassment. Whoever she was, she vowed they would never be friends.
She whiled away a little time imagining the woman trying to win her affection. She would be very cool towards her, Julia thought. Not rude; Clodia had taught her to despise rudeness. Just enough to make the woman feel unwelcome.
A heavy cloak hung on a peg by the gelding’s stall and Julia recognised it as the one that had draped the last pair. She remembered the man’s laughter as it carried over the fields. He was very handsome, she thought. Shorter than her father, he walked like the man Clodia had employed to teach her to ride, as if he had so much energy that he could only barely stop himself from dancing with the pleasure of it.
Julia thought his companion must love him, from the way she had draped herself against his back. They always seemed to be touching, almost by accident.
She stayed in the stables for a long time, trying to get to the root of what felt different since her father had arrived. She always came there when there was a problem or when she had upset Clodia. Amongst the smell of leather and straw, in the shadows, she had always felt safe. The main house had so many empty rooms that were cold and dark at night. When she crept through them to climb the wall under the moonlight, she could imagine her mother walking there and shiver. It was too easy to think of the men who had killed her, padding up behind until Julia would spin in terror and back away from phantoms she could never see.
A burst of laughter carried to her from the house and she raised her head to listen. The sound faded into a deeper silence and she blinked in the darkness as she realised that having her father’s friends here made her feel safe. There would be no assassins creeping over the wall for her tonight, no nightmares.
She patted the gelding’s nose and took the cloak from its peg, letting it fall onto the dusty floor in a moment of spite. Her father’s friend deserved better than that one, she thought, hugging herself in the gloom.
Pompey paced with his hands clasped tightly behind him. He wore a toga of thick white cloth that left his arms bare and the muscles moved visibly as he worked his fingers against each other. The lamps in his city home had begun to gutter, but he did not call for slaves to refill the reservoirs. The dim light suited the mood of the consul of Rome.
‘Only standing in the elections could repair the damage of leaving his post. Nothing else is worth the risk he has taken, Regulus.’
His most senior centurion stood to attention as his general paced the floor. He had been loyal to him for more than twenty years and knew his moods as well as any man.
‘I am yours to command, sir,’ he said, staring straight ahead.
Pompey looked at him and what he saw seemed to satisfy him.
‘You are my right arm, Regulus, I know it. However, I need more than obedience if Caesar is not to inherit the city from my hands. I need ideas. Speak freely and fear nothing.’
Regulus relaxed slightly with the command. ‘Have you considered drafting a law to allow you to stand again? He could not take the post if you were the alternative.’
Pompey frowned. If he thought for a moment that such a thing was possible, he would have considered it. The Senate, even the citizens, would revolt against even the suggestion of a return to those old days. The irony of having helped to bring about the very restrictions that now held him was not wasted on him, but such thoughts brought him no closer to a solution.
‘It is not possible,’ he said through clenched teeth.
‘Then we must plan for the future, sir,’ Regulus said.
Pompey stopped to look at him with hope in his eyes. ‘What do you have in mind?’
Regulus took a deep breath before speaking. ‘Let me join his legion. If there is ever a time when you need him to be stopped, you would have a sword close to him.’
Pompey rubbed his face as he considered the offer. Such loyalty, coupled with so violent a man. Though part of him was repelled by the thought of such a dishonourable course, he would be a fool to refuse a weapon for the years to come. Who knew what the future held, for any of them?
‘You would have to enlist in the ranks,’ Pompey said, slowly.
The centurion breathed hard as he saw his idea was not to be dismissed without a hearing.
‘That will be no hardship for me. My promotions came on the battlefield, from your hand. I have been there before.’