The Gods of War. Conn Iggulden

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      The extraordinarii stood by their mounts, heaving at the great doors of the Quirinal gate in the north of the city. It had been left unbarred and the walls were empty of soldiers to challenge them. Now that the moment had come, there was a hush over the city and the streets by the gate were deserted. The Gaul riders exchanged glances, sensing eyes on them.

      The tramp of the four legions was a muted thunder. The extraordinarii could feel the vibration under their feet and dust shimmered in the cracks between the stones. Fifteen thousand men marched towards the city that had declared them traitor. They came in ranks of six abreast and the tail of the column stretched back further than the eye could see.

      At the head came Julius on a prancing dark gelding of the best bloodlines in Spain. Mark Antony and Brutus rode a pace to the rear, with shields ready in their hands. Domitius, Ciro and Octavian made up the spearhead and all of them felt the tension of the moment with something like awe. They had known the city as a home and a distant mother and as a dream. To see the gates open and the walls unguarded was a strange and frightening thing. They did not talk or joke as they rode in and the marching men of the column kept the same silence. The city waited for them.

      Julius rode under the arch of the gate and smiled as its shadow crossed his face in a dark bar. He had seen cities in Greece and Spain and Gaul, but they could only ever be reflections of this place. The simple order of the houses and the neat lines of paving spoke to something in him and made him sit straighter in the saddle. He used the reins to turn his Spanish mount to the right, where the forum waited for him. Despite the solemnity of the moment, he was hard-pressed to keep his dignity. He wanted to grin, to shout a greeting to his people and his home, lost to him for so many years.

      The streets were no longer empty, he saw. Curiosity had opened the doors of homes and businesses to reveal dark interiors. The people of Rome peered out at the Gaul legions, drawn by the glamour of the stories they had heard. There was not a man or woman in Rome who had not listened to the reports from Gaul. To see those soldiers in the flesh was irresistible.

      ‘Throw the coins, Ciro. Bring them out,’ Julius called over his shoulder and he did grin then at the big man’s tension.

      Like Octavian beside him, Ciro carried a deep bag tied to his saddle and he reached into it to grasp a handful of silver coins, each bearing the face of the man they followed. The coins rang on the stones of the city and Julius saw children run from their hiding places to snatch them before they could come to rest. He remembered standing at Marius’ side in a Triumph long ago and seeing the crowd dip in waves to receive the offerings. It was more than the silver that they wanted and only the poorest would spend the coins. Many more would be kept for a blessing, or made into a pendant for a wife or lover. They carried the face of a man who had become famous through his battles in Gaul and yet was still a stranger to all but a very few.

      The shrill excitement of the children brought out their parents. More and more of them came to reach for the coins and laugh with relief. The column had not come to destroy or loot the city, not after such a start.

      Ciro and Octavian emptied the bags quickly and two more were passed forward to them. The crowd had begun to thicken, as if half of Rome had been waiting for some unseen signal. They did not all smile at the sight of so many armed men on the streets. Many of the faces were angry and dark, but as the column wound its way through the city, they grew fewer, lost amongst the rest.

      Julius passed the old house of Marius, glancing through the gates to the courtyard he had seen first as a boy. He looked behind him for Brutus and knew that he shared the same memories. The old place was shuttered and bare, but it would be opened again and given life. Julius enjoyed the metaphor and tried to frame it into something appropriate for the speech he would make, choosing and discarding words as he rode. He preferred to be seen as a spontaneous speaker, but every phrase had been written in the wheatfields, with Adàn.

      It was eerie to retrace the steps he had marched with the old Primigenia, before they had been scattered by the enemies of his family. His uncle had walked right up to the steps of the senate house and demanded the Triumph they owed him. Julius shook his head in amused memory as he recalled the bull of a man Marius had been. The laws had meant nothing to him and the city had worshipped his irreverence, electing him consul more times than any man in the city’s history. They were different, wilder days then and the world had been smaller.

      A child scrambled onto the street after a rolling coin and Julius pulled on the reins to avoid knocking him down. He saw the boy hold his treasure aloft in a moment of pure happiness before his mother yanked him out of harm’s way. Julius dug in his heels before the lines behind could close up and wondered how it would be interpreted by the readers of omens. No doubt the priests were up to their elbows in entrails in every temple, looking for guidance. Julius thought of Cabera and wished he had lived to come back with them. He had buried the old man in Gaul, in sight of the sea.

      The crowd was swelling and somehow those that came later added to the mood of celebration, as if the word had already gone round the streets. The Gaul legions were not to be feared. They came in dignity, with offerings of silver and their weapons sheathed. The noise was growing in proportion to the numbers. Julius could already hear the cries of vendors selling their wares. He wondered how many of his coins would be exchanged for a cool drink in the sun or a slice of cold meat pie.

      When he glanced behind him, Julius was pleased to see his men respond to the people lining the road. Those who had relatives looked for them, their faces holding that peculiarly intent expression of one who waits to smile.

      The road eased downhill towards the forum and Julius could see the light of the open space long before he entered it. At the centre of the city, it was the single image he had remembered most clearly in all his years away. It was hard to hold his mount back. The road ended in wealthy houses and temples, but Julius did not see them, his gaze fixed ahead. The sun seemed to increase its heat as he rode through to the heart of Rome and he felt a rush of excitement that he could hardly believe.

      There were people there, already in their thousands. Some of them were cheering, but though their mood was light, Julius knew they would demand to be entertained, to be given precious memories with which to impress their children.

      They had left him a path through their midst to the new senate house and Julius glanced at the site of the old one before forgetting it. Rome was more than buildings, more than her history. She was made clean with the innocence of each new generation and he was part of this rebirth.

      He looked straight ahead and smiled as the citizens raised their voices around him. He knew the legions marched СКАЧАТЬ