The Field of Swords

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‘Do you think I should not? Should I use my time to build another fine building you will never use?’

Someone shouted ‘No!’ and Julius grinned at the lone voice, enjoying the ripple of laughter that spread through them.

‘To that man who shouted, I say yes! We should build great soaring temples and bridges and aqueducts for clean water. If a foreign king comes to Rome, I want him to know we are blessed in all things. I want him to look up – but not tread in anything horrible when he does.’

Julius waited for the laughter to fade before going on. He knew they listened for the simple reason that his voice rang with conviction. He believed what he said and they heard him and were lifted.

‘We are a practical people, you and I. We need drains and safety and honest trade and cheap prices for the food to live. But we are also dreamers, practical dreamers who will remake the world to endure a thousand years. We build to last. We are the inheritors of Greece. We have strength, but not just that of the body. We invent and perfect until there is nothing so fine as Rome. One street at a time, if need be.’

He took a deep, slow breath and his eyes filled with affection for the people listening.

‘I look at you all and I am proud. My blood has helped to make Rome and I do not see it wasted when I look on her people. This is our land. Yet there is a world outside it that has yet to know what we have found. What we have made is great enough to take into the dark places, to spread the rule of law, the honour of our city, until anywhere in the world one of us can say “I am a Roman citizen” and be assured of good treatment. If I am made consul, I will work for that day.’

He had finished, though they didn’t know it at first. They waited patiently to hear what he would say next and Julius was almost tempted into continuing before an inner voice of caution told him to simply thank them and step down.

The silence broke in a roar of appreciation and Julius flushed with the excitement of it. He was unaware of the men on the platform behind him and could see only the people who had listened, each one hearing him alone and taking in the words. It was better than wine.

Behind his back, Pompey leaned over to Crassus and whispered as he applauded.

‘You made him aedile? He is no friend of yours, Crassus. Believe it.’

For the benefit of the crowd, Crassus smiled back at his colleague, his eyes glittering angrily.

‘I know how to judge a friend, Pompey.’

Pompey stood then and clapped a hand to Julius’ shoulder as he came abreast of him. As the crowd saw the two men smile at each other, they cheered again and Pompey raised his other arm to acknowledge them, as if Julius was his pupil and had done well to please them.

‘A wonderful speech, Caesar,’ Pompey said. ‘You will be like a fresh wind in the Senate if you are successful. Practical dreamers, a wonderful concept.’

Julius clasped the offered hand before turning to call Crassus to the front. The other consul was already moving, too astute to let the opportunity pass without his presence.

The three men stood together while the crowd cheered, and from a distance their smiles looked genuine. Senator Prandus also rose, but no one noticed.

Alexandria turned to Teddus at her side as the crowd cheered the men on the platform.

‘Well, what did you think of him?’ she said.

The old soldier rubbed the bristles on his chin. He had come because Alexandria had asked him, but he hadn’t the slightest interest in the promises of the men who ruled his city and didn’t know how to say that without offending his employer.

‘He was all right,’ he said, after reflection. ‘Though I didn’t hear him offer to have a coin stamped like the others. Promises are all very well, mistress, but a silver coin buys you a good meal and a jug.’

Alexandria frowned for a moment, then snapped open the heavy bangle she wore on her wrist, sliding a denarius out in her hand. She gave it to Teddus and he accepted it, raising his eyebrows.

‘What’s that for?’ he said.

‘You spend it,’ she replied. ‘When it’s gone and you’re hungry again, Caesar will still be there.’

Teddus nodded as if he understood her, carefully tucking the coin into the hidden pocket of his tunic. He glanced around to see if anyone had noted where he kept his money, but the crowd seemed focused on the raised stage. Still, it paid to be careful in Rome.

Servilia watched the man she loved as Pompey clapped an arm on his shoulders. The consul could scent a changing wind as fast as any of the other men in the Senate, though she wondered if Pompey knew Julius would not allow even the semblance of control from the outgoing consuls.

There were times when she hated the shallow games they all played. Even giving Julius and Prandus the chance to speak at the formal consuls’ address was part of it. She knew of two more candidates on the senate list and there were still a few days to go before the lists were closed. None of those had been allowed to cheapen the consuls’ address with their tin promises.

The crowd would remember only three men and Julius was one of them. She let out a breath of tension. Unlike most of those in the forum, she had not been able to relax and enjoy the speeches. While Julius stood to face them, her heart had pounded in fear and pride. He hadn’t slipped. The memory of the man she had found in Spain was simply that now. Julius had recaptured the old magic and it touched even her as she listened and saw his bright eyes sweep over her without stopping. He was so young; could the crowd see that? For all their skill and wit, Pompey and Crassus were fading powers compared to him, and he was hers.

A man stepped a little too closely to her as he wound his way through the crowd and Servilia caught a glimpse of a hard, scarred face, damp with sweat. Before she could react, a strong hand fastened on the man’s arm, making him cry out.

‘Be on your way,’ Brutus said softly.

The man yanked hard to free himself and retreated, though he paused to spit when he was safely out of range. Servilia turned to her son and he smiled at her, the incident forgotten.

‘I think you have backed the right horse, Mother,’ he said, looking up at Julius. ‘Can’t you feel it? Everything is in place for him.’

Servilia chuckled, caught by his enthusiasm. Without his armour, her son looked more boyish than usual and she reached up to ruffle his hair affectionately.

‘One speech doesn’t make a consul, you know. The work starts today.’ She followed his gaze up to where Julius was turning away at last to make his way into the crowd, taking outstretched hands and responding to the citizens as they called to him. Even at a distance, she could see his joy.

‘But it is a good start,’ she said.

Suetonius walked with his friends through empty streets away from the forum. The stalls and houses were shut and barred and they could still hear the muted sound of the crowd behind the rows of houses.

Suetonius didn’t speak for a long time, his face stiff with bitterness. Every cheer from the tradesmen had eaten at him until he couldn’t stand it any longer. Julius, always Julius. No matter what happened, the man seemed to have more luck than any three others. A few words to a crowd and they fawned on him, sickeningly, while Suetonius’ father was humiliated. It was appalling to see them swayed by tricks and words while a good Roman went unnoticed. He had been so proud when his father allowed his name to be entered for consul. Rome deserved a man of his dignity and his honour, not a Caesar, out for nothing more than his own glory.

Suetonius clenched his fists, almost growling at what he had witnessed. The two friends with him exchanged nervous glances.

‘He’s going to win, isn’t he?’ Suetonius said without looking at them.

Bibilus nodded, a pace behind his friend, then realised the gesture couldn’t be seen.

‘Perhaps. Pompey and Crassus seem to think so, at least. Your father could still take the second post.’

He wondered whether Suetonius was going to march them all the way back to the estate outside Rome. Good horses and comfortable rooms awaited them in the other direction as Suetonius stalked along, blind with his hatred. Bibilus hated to walk when horses were available. He hated riding as well, but it was easier on his legs and he sweated less.