The Gods of War. Conn Iggulden

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      Pompey stood on the docks at Ostia and looked back in the direction of Rome. The port town was quiet and he wondered if the inhabitants understood what they were seeing. It was possible, but over his time in the Senate he had come to realise that there were thousands of citizens who barely noticed the work of their masters. Their lives went on just the same. After all, no matter who was consul, the bread had to be baked and the fish brought in.

      The last of the merchant ships crackled into flame behind him, making him turn and look out to sea. There were lives who would be affected, he thought. The owners would be beggared at a stroke, to make sure that Caesar would not have a fleet to follow before Pompey was ready. Even at a distance, the roar of flames was impressive and Pompey watched as they reached the sail and engulfed the tarry cloth in an instant. The small ship began to settle and he hoped his men had the sense to get well clear on the boats before she sank.

      Three sturdy triremes waited for the final members of the Senate and Pompey himself. They rocked in the swell as the great oars were greased in their locks and checked for fouling. The wind was running out to sea. It was fitting that Pompey should be the last to leave and he knew it was time, but he couldn’t break the mood that held him on shore.

      Had there ever been a choice? He had thought himself clever when he sent the order for Julius to return. Any other general would have come with just a few guards and Pompey would have made a quick, neat end to it. Even now, he could not be sure why Julius had gambled everything on his rush south. Regulus had obviously failed and Pompey assumed he had died trying to fulfil his last orders. Perhaps the man’s clumsy attempt had given Julius the truth of his master. He could not imagine Regulus breaking under torture, but perhaps that was foolishness. Experience had taught him that any man could be broken in enough time. It was just necessary to find the levers into his soul. Even so, he would not have thought there was a lever made to open Regulus.

      Pompey saw the last boat from his ship bump against the quayside and Suetonius jump onto the docks. He watched as the younger man marched up the hill, stiff with self-importance. Pompey turned back towards the city he could feel in the distance. Ahenobarbus had not come and Pompey doubted he still lived. It had been a blow to lose the men he had with him, but if he had slowed Julius at all, it would have been worth it. Pompey could not believe how difficult it had been to uproot the senators from their homes. He had been tempted to abandon the endless crates of their possessions on the quayside for the merchant sailors to pick through. Their wives and children had been bad enough, but he had drawn a line at more than three slaves to each family and hundreds had been sent back to the city. Every ship and trireme for a hundred miles up and down the coast had been called in and only a few were left empty and burnt.

      Pompey smiled tightly to himself. Even Julius could not conjure a fleet out of nothing. Pompey’s army would have nearly a year to prepare for the invasion and then, well, let them come after that.

      As Suetonius approached, Pompey noted the high polish on his armour and approved. The senator had made himself indispensable over the previous weeks. In addition, Pompey knew his hatred of Caesar was absolute. It was good to have a man who could be trusted and Pompey knew that Suetonius would never be one of those who questioned his orders.

      ‘Your boat is ready, sir,’ Suetonius said.

      Pompey nodded stiffly. ‘I was having a last look at my country,’ he replied. ‘It will be a while until I stand here again.’

      ‘It will come though, sir. Greece is like a second home to many of the men. We’ll end Caesar’s betrayal there.’

      ‘We will indeed,’ Pompey said.

      A waft of smoke from the burning merchant ship passed over both of them and he shivered slightly. There had been times when he thought he would never get out of the city before Caesar’s legions appeared on the horizon. He had not even made the offerings in the temples that he should have, convinced that every minute counted. Now though, even if he saw his enemy riding towards him, he could stroll down into the boat and go to the ships, leaving them all behind. It was his first unhurried moment in the best part of two weeks and he felt himself relax.

      ‘I wonder if he is already in the city, Suetonius,’ Pompey said softly.

      ‘Perhaps, sir. He will not be there for long if he is.’

      Both men stood staring east, as if they could see the place that had birthed them. Pompey grimaced as he remembered the silent crowds that had lined the streets as his legion marched to the coast. Thousands and thousands of his people had come to watch the exodus. They had not dared to call out, even from the deepest sections of the crowd. They knew him too well for that. He had seen their expressions though and resented them. What right did they have to stare so, as Pompey passed by? He had given them his best years. He had been senator, consul and Dictator. He had destroyed the rebellion of Spartacus and more small kings and rebels than he could remember. Even Romans like Titus Milo had fallen to him when they threatened his people. He had been father to the city all his life and like the children they were, they stood in sullen silence, as if they owed him nothing.

      Black cinders floated in the air around the two men, borne aloft by unseen currents. Pompey shivered in the breeze, feeling old. He was not ready to retire from public life, if Caesar would even have let him. He had been forced to this place by a man who cared nothing for the city. Caesar would find out there was a price to pay for ruling Rome. She had claws, and the people who cheered you and threw flowers at your feet could forget it all in just a season.

      ‘I would not change a single year of my life, Suetonius. If I had them again, I would spend them as fast, even if they left me here, with a ship waiting to take me away.’

      He saw Suetonius’ confusion and chuckled.

      ‘But it is not over yet. Come, we must be at sea before the tide changes.’

      Servilia looked at her reflection in a mirror of polished bronze. Three slaves fussed around her, working on her hair and eyes as they had been for three hours before dawn. Today would be special, she knew. Everyone who entered the city said Caesar was coming and she wanted him to see her at her best.

      She rose to stand naked before the mirror, raising her arms for the slave girl to add a subtle dust of rouge to her nipples. The light tickle of the brush made them stiffen and she smiled, before sighing. The mirror could not be fooled. Lightly, she touched her stomach with the palm of a hand. She had escaped the sagging belly of the Roman matron with a host of births, but age had loosened the skin, so that she could press it and see it wrinkle like thin cloth, as if nothing held it to her. Soft dresses that had once been used to reveal, now covered what she did not want seen. She knew she was still elegant and riding kept her fit, but there was only one youth to be had and hers was a memory. Without dye, her hair was an iron grey and each year she tortured herself with the thought that it was time to let her age show before her paints and oils were nothing but a tawdry covering, a humiliation.

      She had seen women who would not admit they had grown old and hated the thought of joining those pathetic, wigged creatures. Better to have dignity than to be ridiculed, but today Caesar was coming, and she would use all her art.

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