The Gods of War. Conn IgguldenЧитать онлайн книгу.

      Seeing Brundisium without the usual bustle of merchant and legion galleys was strange for such a key port in the south. When Brutus crested the last hill with the exhausted guard cohorts, he was disappointed not to find anything larger than a lobster boat tied to the quays. He tried to remember if he knew the quaestor of the port and then shrugged to himself. Whatever small contingent of Roman soldiers was stationed there would not be able to interfere. Outside of Rome herself, there was nothing in the south to trouble them.

      The guards followed him down to the port, ignoring the stares and pointing fingers of the workers there. It was a strange feeling for most of them, but Brutus was familiar with hostile territory and fell back into the attitudes of Gaul without really thinking about it. The sight of soldiers would have brought a sense of peace and order only a short time before, but with a looming civil war they would be feared as much as any other band of scavengers. It was unpleasant to see the faces of those who stepped aside for the two cohorts of guards. Even with all his experience, Brutus could not ignore a subtle discomfort and found himself growing increasingly irritable as he led the column through to the import buildings on the docks. He left them there in the sun as he dismounted and strode inside.

      The quaestor’s clerk was on his feet, arguing with two burly men. All three turned to face him as he entered and Brutus saluted lazily, knowing his arrival had been the subject of their debate.

      ‘I need food and water for my men,’ he said abruptly. ‘See to that first. We will not trouble you for long, gentlemen, so put yourselves at ease. I want to find a ship to take me to Greece.’

      As he mentioned his destination, he noticed the clerk’s eyes flicker to a piece of parchment on his desk and then back up, guiltily. Brutus smiled, crossing the room. The dockworkers moved to block him and he dropped a casual hand onto his sword.

      ‘You are unarmed, gentlemen. Are you certain you’d like to try me?’ he asked.

      One of the men licked his bottom lip nervously and would have spoken, but his companion tapped him on the arm and they both edged away.

      ‘Very good,’ Brutus said to them, letting his hand fall. ‘Now then; food, water and … a ship.’

      He reached down to the desk and gripped the clerk’s bony hand, moving it firmly off the papers. Brutus took the sheaf and scanned them quickly, letting each fall until he came to one midway through the pile. It was a record of a legion galley that had landed at the port just the day before to replenish its fresh-water barrels. There was little detail to be gleaned from it. The captain had returned from the north according to the record and set sail after only a few hours in Brundisium.

      ‘Where was he heading?’ Brutus demanded.

      The clerk opened his mouth and closed it, shaking his head.

      Brutus sighed. ‘I have a thousand men standing on your docks. All we want is to leave here without trouble, but I am not patient today. I can give the word to set fire to this building and anything else you value. Or you can just tell me. Where is this galley?’

      The clerk bolted for a back room and Brutus heard the clatter of his sandals as he rushed up a flight of stairs. He waited in uncomfortable silence with the two dockworkers, ignoring them.

      A man wearing a toga that had seen better days came down the steps behind the clerk. Brutus sighed at the quaestor’s appearance.

      ‘Provincials,’ he murmured under his breath.

      The man heard him and glared. ‘Where are your letters of authority?’ the quaestor demanded.

      Brutus stared at him, focusing on a food stain on the man’s robe until he flushed.

      ‘You have no right to threaten us here,’ the quaestor blustered. ‘We are loyal.’

      ‘Really? To whom?’ Brutus asked. The man hesitated and Brutus enjoyed his discomfort before he went on. ‘I have two cohorts going to join Pompey and the Senate in Greece. That is my authority. Your clerk was good enough to show me the records and a galley passed through here yesterday. Tell me where they were heading.’

      The quaestor fired a poisonous glance at his hapless servant before coming to a decision. ‘I spoke to the captain myself,’ he said reluctantly. ‘He was on patrol off Ariminum when the message reached him to come in. He was going to land at Ostia.’ He hesitated.

      ‘But you told him that Pompey had already left,’ Brutus said. ‘I imagine he would want to join the fleet by sailing around the south coast, meeting them halfway. Does that sound like the conversation you remember?’

      The quaestor stiffened at the tone. ‘I had no new orders for him. I believe he may have put to sea to deny the value of his ship to … rebel forces.’

      ‘A sensible man,’ Brutus said. ‘But we are loyal to Pompey, sir. We need that galley. I expect such a thoughtful captain would have told you his next port in case the right person came asking. Somewhere further south, yes?’

      As he spoke, he watched the clerk’s eyes and saw them shift guiltily. The quaestor was a far better gambler than his servant, but he caught the glance and the muscles stood out on his jaw as he considered what to do.

      ‘How do I know you are not with Caesar?’ he asked.

      The question had a far greater effect than the quaestor could have intended. Brutus seemed to grow slightly, making the little office feel smaller and oppressively hot. The fingers of his right hand drummed for a moment on the silver breastplate, the noise startlingly loud in the silence.

      ‘Do you think I have a secret password for you?’ he snapped. ‘A special sign to show I am loyal? These are complicated days. There is nothing more I can say to you, except this. If you do not tell me, I will burn this port to the ground and you in it. I will have my men bar the doors and listen to you scratching at them. That is all I offer.’ He stared the quaestor down, knowing there would be no hint of a bluff in his eyes.

      ‘Tarentum. He said he would make a landing at Tarentum,’ the clerk said, breaking the tension.

      The quaestor was visibly relieved to have had the decision taken from him, but he still raised his fist in reaction, making the clerk flinch. Brutus looked for some hint that they were lying, but he was satisfied and then ignored the pair, calculating quickly. Tarentum was a port he could reach in just a few hours of hard riding across an isthmus the galley would have to sail around.

      ‘Thank you, gentlemen, your loyalty will be rewarded,’ he said, watching their fear and confusion as they digested his words. He supposed it would be much the same all over Roman lands very soon, as the question of allegiance became more and more important. Civil war engendered a distrust that had already begun to eat at the foundations of their world.

      Outside in the sun, Brutus watched the cohorts fill their waterskins from a well in reasonable order. He was tempted for a moment of wildness to have them burn the port as he had threatened. After all, it could well be one of those Julius would use to send a fleet to Greece. He did not give the order, preferring not to send a column of smoke to show their position. There was also a little pride in wanting Julius to make the crossing as soon as he could. Brutus needed just a few months to establish himself in