The Gods of War. Conn Iggulden

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СКАЧАТЬ not cease their searching after the harsh lesson they had been taught outside Corfinium.

      ‘Ahenobarbus! Where are you?’ Brutus called as he reined in, his dark eyes examining Seneca for a moment and moving on, dismissing him from notice.

      Seneca coloured and cleared his throat. He did remember this one, from the negotiations in Caesar’s tent. The mocking smile was always his first expression and the eyes had seen more war and death than Seneca could imagine. On the high-stepping Spanish gelding, he was a forbidding figure and Seneca found his mouth was dry from fear.

      ‘Ahenobarbus! Show yourself,’ Brutus shouted, his impatience growing.

      ‘He is not here,’ Seneca replied.

      The general’s head snapped round at his words and he wheeled his horse with obvious skill. Seneca felt a little more of his confidence drain away under the man’s stare. He felt as if he was being judged and found wanting, but the initiative seemed to have been lost from the moment they sighted the rider.

      ‘I do not remember your face,’ Brutus told him, loud enough for them all to hear. ‘Who are you?’

      ‘Livinius Seneca. I do not …’

      ‘What rank do you hold to lead these men?’

      Seneca glared. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a few of the guards turn their heads to hear his answer. Against his will, he flushed again. ‘Pompey will decide how to reward my loyalty,’ he began. ‘At the moment …’

      ‘At the moment, you may be a few hours ahead of Caesar’s legions once he discovers you have left the barracks,’ Brutus snapped. ‘I assume command of these cohorts by right of my rank as general of Rome. Now, where are you heading?’

      Seneca lost his temper at last. ‘You have no right to give orders here!’ he shouted. ‘We know our duty, sir. We will not return to Rome. Ride back to the city, General. I don’t have time to stand here and bicker with you.’

      Brutus raised his eyebrows in interest, leaning forward to take a better look. ‘But I’m not going back to Rome,’ he said softly. ‘I’m taking you to Greece to fight for Pompey.’

      ‘I won’t be tricked by you, General. Not twice. I saw you in Caesar’s tent with Ahenobarbus. Are you telling me you have turned traitor in a day? That’s a lie.’

      To Seneca’s horror, the silver-armoured general swung a leg over his saddle and vaulted lightly to the ground. He took three paces to stand close enough to feel the sun’s heat off his armour and his eyes were terrible.

      ‘You call me a liar and a traitor and expect to live, Seneca? I am no man’s servant but Rome’s. My sword has killed more men than stand here for the Senate and you dare to use those words to me?’

      His hand caressed the hilt of his gladius and Seneca took a step back from his rage.

      ‘I have told you where I’m going,’ Brutus continued relentlessly. ‘I have told you I will fight for Pompey. Don’t question me again, boy. Be warned.’ The last words were a harsh whisper, before the light of madness fell from his gaze and his voice changed to a more normal tone. ‘Tell me where you are heading.’

      ‘The coast,’ Seneca said. He could feel a fat line of sweat run down his cheek and did not dare to scratch the itching trail.

      Brutus shook his head. ‘Not with two cohorts. There aren’t fishing boats enough for all of us. We’ll need to head for a port and hope there is a merchant vessel Pompey didn’t manage to burn. Brundisium is two hundred miles south and east from here. It’s large enough.’

      ‘It’s too far,’ Seneca said instantly. ‘If they send the extraordinarii …’

      ‘You think you’ll be safer with your back to the sea? Then you’re a fool. We need a ship and there must be some trader still working.’

      ‘But if they send the riders?’ Seneca said desperately.

      Brutus shrugged. ‘I trained those men. If Caesar sends the extraordinarii out against us, we’ll gut them.’

      As Seneca stared at him, Brutus walked calmly back to his horse and leapt into the saddle. From that lofty position, he looked down at Seneca and waited for further opposition. When none came, he nodded to himself, satisfied.

      ‘Brundisium it is. I hope your lads are fit, Seneca. I want to be in Brundisium in ten days or less.’

      He turned his horse to face the south and waved on the first rank of guards. To Seneca’s private fury, they turned to follow him and the column began to move once more. As he matched his pace to the ranks around him, Seneca realised that he would spend the next week staring at the rear of the horse.

      In the soft light of morning, Julius paced the length of Marius’ old entrance hall, watched by the generals he had summoned. He looked exhausted and pale, a man made older by the news.

      ‘It’s not just that the betrayal will hurt our standing with the remaining senators,’ he said. ‘We could keep that quiet if we say he was sent away on some private task. But he has with him the knowledge of our strengths, our weaknesses, even our methods of attack! Brutus knows the details of every battle we fought in Gaul. He practically invented the extraordinarii as we use them. He has the Spanish secret of hard iron. Gods, if he gives all that to Pompey we will be beaten before we begin. Tell me how I can win against that sort of knowledge.’

      ‘Kill him before he can reach Pompey,’ Regulus said into the silence.

      Julius glanced up, but did not reply. Domitius frowned in bemusement, wiping clammy sweat from his face. His thoughts were still heavy from a wild party in a house off the forum. The sweet smell of drink was on all of them, but they were steady. Domitius shook his head to clear it. They could not be discussing Brutus as an enemy, he told himself. It was not possible. They had taken salt and pay together, shed blood and bound each other’s wounds. They had become generals in hard years and Domitius could not shake the thought that Brutus would return with an explanation and a joke, with a woman on his arm, perhaps. The man was practically a father to Octavian. How could he have thrown that away for his stupid temper?

      Domitius rubbed his callused hands over his face, looking at the floor as the angry conversation continued around him. They had come into the city only the morning before and already one of them was an enemy.

      Mark Antony spoke as Julius resumed his pacing. ‘We could spread the word that Brutus is a spy for us. That would undermine his value to the forces in Greece. Pompey won’t be willing to trust him as it is. With just a little push, he might reject Brutus altogether.’

      ‘How? How do we do that?’ Julius demanded.

      Mark Antony shrugged. ‘Send a man to be captured on the Greek coast. Give him your ring or something, to show he spies for us. Pompey will torture it out of him and then Brutus will lose his value.’

      Julius considered this in angry silence. ‘And who shall I send to be tortured, Mark Antony? We are not discussing a beating. Pompey would take hours over him to be certain he has the truth. I’ve seen him work on traitors before. Our spy would lose his eyes to hot irons and with them the hope of surviving the ordeal. Pompey will be thorough with him. Do you understand? There’ll be nothing left but meat.’

      Mark СКАЧАТЬ