The Gods of War

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The Tenth were polished and shining as they stood guard on the new consuls. They held their spears and shields ready to signal for silence, but Julius was content simply to stand there, gazing over the heads of the vast crowd.

‘The last time I was made consul in this place, I had Gaul ahead of me,’ he said to Mark Antony. ‘Pompey, Crassus and I were allies. It seems more than a lifetime ago, now.’

‘You did not waste the time,’ Mark Antony replied and they shared a smile as they remembered those years. As always, Mark Antony had a polished look, as if he were carved from the best Roman stone. It sometimes irked Julius that of all the men he had known, Mark Antony looked most like a consul should look. He had a strong face and a powerful frame, coupled with a natural dignity. Julius had heard that the women of Rome fluttered and blushed in his wake.

Julius looked up at the taller man, knowing he had made the right choice in having him stand to lead the Senate. He was loyal, but not as Regulus was loyal, where a careless word might send death on quick wings to an enemy. Mark Antony cared deeply for the old Republic and would make it live while Julius went to Greece. He had shown a disdain for wealth that only those born to it could assume. He could be trusted and it was a relief for Julius not to have to worry that his precious city would suffer while he was away. Of all men, he knew the fragility of apparent peace, and the lessons of Milo and Clodius had not been lost on him, even as far away as Gaul. Rome needed a steady hand and peace to grow. Pompey could never have given that to her.

Julius smiled wryly, knowing he too was not the man to run a peaceful city. He had loved the conquest of Gaul and Britain too much to consider spending his latter years in sleepy debates. He cared enough for the law when he could change it to match his vision, but the tedious administration that followed would be a slow death. Like Pompey, he preferred to tear through the skin of comfort and find new places, new struggles. It was somehow fitting that the last lions of Rome should be facing each other at last. If Pompey had not been there to try him, Julius thought he would still have found himself handing power to Mark Antony, at least for a while. He would have gone to conquer Africa, perhaps, or to follow the footsteps of Alexander to the strange lands he had described in the east.

‘Shall we address our people, Consul?’ he said, signalling a centurion of the Tenth.

The soldiers around the platform crashed their spears into their shields three times and then there was silence and they could hear a breeze whisper across the field of Mars. The crowd stood respectfully, before some of them started cheering and the rest joined in before Julius could speak. The sound was carried upwards by thousands of throats as the sun beat down.

Julius looked at Mark Antony and was surprised to see there were tears in his eyes. He did not feel it so strongly himself, perhaps because his mind was already on the campaign to come, or because he had been a consul once before. He envied his companion, understanding without sharing the emotion.

‘Will you speak first?’ he asked softly.

Mark Antony inclined his head in thanks for the offer. ‘After you, General. They are yours.’

Julius rested his hands on the wooden rail his men had made for him, exactly at the height he wanted. He took a deep breath and flung out his voice.

‘The centuries have voted today and their mark has been made in the soil of our fathers. Mark Antony and I stand before you as consuls and Pompey will hear your voices even in Greece. He will know his absent Senate has been replaced. That is our message to him. No man is more than Rome, no single man more than those I see before me today.’

They cheered and stamped to show their pleasure at his words.

‘We have shown that Rome can survive the loss of those who care nothing for her. We have shown that there can be law without corruption. Have I fulfilled my promises to you?’

They roared incoherently in what may have been agreement.

‘I have,’ Julius told them, firmly. ‘The courts have been cleansed and bribery punished openly. There will be no secret deals in my city by those who rule. The workings of the Senate will be published each day at sunset. Your votes are a loan of power, but only to work in your interests, not to press you down. I have not forgotten this, as some have. Your voices sound with me each day and I will take their echoes to Greece to pass them to the armies there.’

The crowd had grown denser at his feet as those behind pressed forward. He wondered how many had come to the Campus to vote in the new posts. They had been standing since dawn and would be hungry and thirsty, their few coins gone to the vendors long before. He resolved to be brief.

‘The legions in Greece will have heard us here, today. They will wonder how they support a man who has lost the faith of the people who matter most. There can be no authority without your voice. You have made some of your number into magistrates and quaestors, yes, and even into consuls!’ He waited through the response, smiling down at them. ‘We have accomplished much in these last few months. Enough that when I leave I know that my city will be safe and at peace. I will take your votes to Pompey and I will tell him that he has been rejected by the citizens who raised him. I will serve my city faithfully and Mark Antony will be your hands, your eyes, your will in the Senate.’

As they cheered, he brought Mark Antony forward with a hand on his arm.

‘And now they are yours,’ he murmured.

Without a glance back at the massed citizens, he walked down the steps to the ground and left Mark Antony alone to face them. It was important that the new consul be seen to act on his own and Julius walked away to where his horse was held ready. He took the reins from a legionary of the Tenth and threw a leg over the saddle, sitting straight and taking a deep breath of the cool air.

As Mark Antony began to speak, Julius shook his head in gentle amusement. Even the man’s voice was perfect. It rang over the crowd and if Julius knew the words had been hammered out in late-night sessions, it did not show.

‘To stand here, my brothers, with the city behind us, is the reason I was born …’ Julius heard, before the voice was lost on the breeze. The extraordinarii formed up around him and they cantered towards the gates of Rome.

Julius watched in silence as two of the strongest men dismounted and walked towards the plates of bronze and wax that sealed the city. They carried heavy hammers and as they raised them Julius heard the noise of the citizens swell like the sound of distant waves. With a crack, the plates fell away and the gates swung open for him to ride back to his work. The elections had given him legitimacy, but he would still have to take his legions over a hostile sea to Greece. For a moment, the thought that he would face Brutus there made him falter. It was a pain he crushed ruthlessly whenever it surfaced. The gods would grant him another meeting with his oldest friend, or they would not. He would lead his army to triumph, or he would be killed and his path would end. He could not allow himself to weaken, having come so far.

‘It is just a step,’ he said to himself as he crossed the line of the walls.

Servilia was there at the old house of Marius when Julius arrived, sweating and dusty from his ride through the sweltering city. She looked fresh in comparison, but in the bright light of day, her age was ever more visible. She had always been a woman for the evening. He busied himself with the saddle for a moment while he collected his thoughts, unwilling to launch straight into another difficult discussion. The crowds of Rome were far easier to handle than Servilia, he thought.

A slave brought him a cup of iced apple juice and Julius emptied it as he walked into the rooms where she waited. Water could be heard from the fountain in the courtyard and the inner rooms were arranged as squares around an open centre so that the scent of plants and flowers was always in the air. It was a beautiful home and it was rare now that he imagined the voice of Marius echoing through it.

‘Consul once again,’ he said to her.

Her eyes softened for an instant, touched by his pride. There had been precious little softness from her since the night Brutus had left. At first, Julius had thought she felt guilt for her son’s betrayal, but he should have known better.

‘Your wife will be pleased, Caesar,’ Servilia said.

Julius sighed and saw her eyes flash with anger. He went to her and took her in his arms. ‘But I came here to you, Servilia, as I said I would. Pompeia is at the estate to give me an heir. Nothing more than that. We have discussed this enough, don’t you think? The granddaughter of Cornelius Sulla is the best match I could have found to give me a son. He will have the blood of two noble families running through him. One day, the boy will lead Rome after me.’

Servilia shrugged and he knew the hasty marriage still festered within her.

‘You were the one who warned me first that I would want a son, Servilia,’ he reminded.

She snorted. ‘I know that, but I also know the part men think with. You are not a breeding bull, Julius, for all your boasting. Oh yes, I’ve heard your drunken soldiers talk about your stamina. What a joy it was to hear how many times you ploughed her in a single night.’

Julius whooped with laughter. ‘You cannot hold me responsible for my soldiers!’ he said. ‘You should know better than to listen to such things.’ He took her by the shoulders, his amusement obvious. ‘I am here; does that tell you nothing? Pompeia will be mother to my children, that is all. I will not tell you there is no pleasure in fathering them. The girl is extremely well-proportioned …’

Servilia pushed him away.

‘I have seen her,’ she said. ‘Pompeia is beautiful. She is also witless, which I suspect you missed while you were gazing at her breasts.’

‘I wanted health and strength, Servilia. As the breeding bull, I will provide the wit for my children.’

‘You are a goat, at least,’ she said and he laughed again.

‘A goat who is consul for the second time, Servilia. A goat who will rule.’

His humour was infectious and she could not resist him. Gently, she slapped his face to interrupt his mood.

‘All men are fools around women, Julius. If you leave her out in that estate for too long without you, there will be trouble.’

‘Nonsense, she will pine for me. After a touch of Caesar in the night, all women …’

She slapped him again, with a little more force. ‘You chose for beauty and children, but keep a close eye on that one. She is far too pretty to be left alone.’

‘I will keep her away from the young men of Rome, of course. Now, enough of this, Servilia. As consul, I demand food and the best wine from the cellar. I have to go to Ostia later to see the new keels and I’m up at dawn tomorrow to take the auspices with Mark Antony. It will be a good year for Rome, I can feel it. There will be lightning tomorrow as the earnest priests look for signs.’

Servilia sighed. ‘And if there isn’t?’

‘Domitius will come and report he has seen some. That has always worked in the past. The priests won’t argue. We will have a year of good fortune, regardless.’

He stepped away from her and she ached to be held as strongly again. For all his laughing dismissal of his new wife, he had not shared Servilia’s bed for some weeks and the last time was almost a requiem for the closeness she remembered. There had been little hunger in him then; not for her. She swallowed her pride in his presence, but the marriage had hurt.

Yet he was with her, as he said, and his wife was out of the city with no one but slaves for company. Servilia had seen passion become friendship before. She knew she should be easing into that state, as she had once done with Crassus. But the slightest touch from Julius or a kiss would make her remember riding together in Spain and sitting at the feet of Alexander’s statue in the first glow of new love. It was too painful.

A slave entered and bowed to Julius before speaking. ‘Master, there are visitors at the gate,’ he said.

‘Excellent,’ Julius replied, turning to Servilia. ‘I asked Domitius, Octavian and Ciro to bring their promotion lists to me.’ He seemed uncomfortable for a moment and the amusement faded from his face. ‘We have had to make changes since Brutus left for Greece. Will you sit in on the discussion?’

‘No, you don’t need me here,’ Servilia replied, raising her chin. Had she been summoned only to be ignored? Even for a leader of Rome, Julius was capable of the most appalling breaches of courtesy. It was more than possible that he thought the brief exchange was enough to fulfil his obligations to her. She folded her arms with slow care, and he looked at her then, seeing the irritation. His eyes lost their distracted blankness and she could almost feel the full force of his attention.

‘I should have kept the afternoon for you,’ he said, taking her hands. ‘Shall I send them away, Servilia? We could take horses out to the racetrack, or sit by the Tiber and enjoy the sun. I could teach you to swim.’

It was an effort not to fall under the charm of the man. Despite all that had happened between them, Servilia could still feel the glamour he cast.

‘I can already swim, Julius. No, you see your men and go to Ostia. Perhaps you will still have a chance to visit your young wife tonight.’

He winced at that, but they could both hear the clatter of his officers as they came into the main house. His time for her was coming to an end.

‘If there were two of me, it would not be enough for all I have to do,’ he said.

‘If there were two of you, you would kill each other,’ she retorted, as Domitius came into the room. He beamed at seeing Servilia and she acknowledged him with a smile before excusing herself. In a moment, only her fragrance remained in the air and Julius was busy welcoming the others and calling impatiently for food and drink.

In her own house, Servilia relaxed, the soft footsteps of her slaves hardly interrupting her thoughts.

‘Mistress? The man you wanted is here,’ her slave announced.

Servilia rose from her couch, her gold bracelets chiming gently in the silence. The slave retired quickly and Servilia regarded the man she had summoned with careful interest. He was not richly dressed, though she knew he could mimic any one of the classes of Rome if he chose to.

‘I have another task for you, Belas,’ she said.

He bowed his head in response and she saw that he had grown bald on the crown. She remembered when he had worn his hair down to his shoulders in heavy blond locks and she grimaced at the unfairness of it. Age touched them all.

‘I am playing Dionysus for three more days,’ he said without preamble. ‘The performance has been described as sublime by those who know the theatre. After that, my time is yours.’

She smiled at him and saw to her pleasure that he was still a little in love with her. It may have been that he saw her through a gauze of memory, but he had always been faithful in his adoration.

‘It will not be difficult work, Belas, though it will take you out of the city for a while.’

‘Out? I do not like the towns, Servilia. The peasants would not know a fine play by Euripides if it ran around them shouting vulgar obscenity. I haven’t left the city for almost twenty years and why would I? The world is here and there are some who come to every performance that has a part played by Belas, no matter how small.’

Servilia did not laugh at his vanity. Though he claimed a genius as yet unrecognised, he could be a hard and cunning man and he had been reliable in the past.

‘Not even the towns, Belas. I want you to watch an estate outside the city for me, a woman there.’

Belas took in a sharp breath. ‘Is there a tavern near this place? Surely I am not required to lie in stinking ditches for you? Dionysus should not be reduced to such a level.’

‘There is no tavern, my fox, and I suspect you have already guessed the place I will send you. As I remember the play, Dionysus would lie anywhere for a few good pieces of gold as well.’

Belas shrugged and his face changed subtly, his features a mask for the man within. ‘It can only be this new wife of Caesar’s. The whole city is talking of the girl. No courtship, I noticed, or poems bought from the writers of such lines, not for him. He must have spent her weight in gold, judging by the estate her father is suddenly looking at buying.’

He watched her closely as he spoke and could not resist smiling smugly as her face showed the accuracy of his chatter.

‘It has been a month since the hasty ceremony and still no announcement of a swelling belly,’ he went on. ‘Did he not sample her before the wedding? Pompeia comes from a fertile family and I have been waiting for the happy news and more free wine to drown our envy. He may be bald under those leaves, but he has had a daughter before, so perhaps she is barren?’

‘You are a malicious little gossip, Belas, did I ever tell you?’ Servilia replied. ‘He is not bald yet and not every marriage is blessed with children from the first night.’

‘I have heard he tries valiantly, though. Stallions have done less with mares in heat, from what I …’

‘Enough, Belas,’ she said, her expression growing cold. ‘An aureus a week, until the army leaves for Greece. Will you tell me you can do better in a playhouse somewhere?’

‘Not better than the payment, but my public will forget me. I may not get work as easily afterwards. They are fickle, you know, in their affection and prices have risen with all the gold Caesar brought from Gaul. Two gold pieces a week would keep me alive long enough to find work, when you are finished with old Belas.’

‘Two it is, but I will want your eyes on that house at all times. I do not want excuses from you, or one of your wild stories about gambling games that dragged you in against your will.’

‘My word is good, Servilia. You have always known that.’ His tone was serious and she accepted it.

‘You have not said what I am looking for,’ he went on.

‘She is very young, Belas, and the young can be fools almost as much as the old. Watch she does not stray or be tempted by some fine boy in the city.’

‘And your interest in this, my beautiful queen? Could it be that you are hoping she will be tempted? Perhaps I should put temptation in her path for her to stumble over. Such things could easily be arranged.’

Servilia bit her lip as she thought, before shaking her head. ‘No. If she is a fool, it will not come through me.’

‘I am curious to know why you would spend gold on another man’s wife,’ Belas said, tilting his head as he watched her reactions. To his astonishment, spots of colour appeared on her cheeks.

‘I … will help him, Belas. If to be useful is all I can be to him, then I will be useful.’

At her words, his face softened and he approached her, taking her in his arms. ‘I have been as hopeless, once or twice. Love makes fools of great hearts.’

Servilia pulled free of the embrace, touching at her eyes.

‘Will you do it then?’

‘Of course, my queen. It is done, as soon as I put the mask of beloved Dionysus back in the box and the crowds have sighed their last at my lines. Would you like to hear the climax? It is a rare piece.’

She glanced in gratitude at him for the chatter that smoothed over the moment of sadness. ‘Let me summon the girls, Belas. You are always better when there are pretty women listening to you,’ she said, relaxing now that their business was over.

‘It is my curse to have them inspire me,’ he said. ‘May I choose a favourite when I am done? An actor of my quality must be rewarded.’

‘Just one, Belas,’ she said.

‘Two? I thirst for love, Servilia.’

‘One,’ she said, ‘and a cup of wine for the thirst.’

Caecilius shivered as the cold sea spattered over the bows of the tiny boat in the darkness. He could hear the hiss and slap of waves, but on the moonless night it was as if he were floating through absolute darkness. The two rowers never spoke as they guided the craft and only the stars glimpsed through drifting cloud kept them on course for the Greek shore. The sail had been brought down some time before and though Caecilius was no sailor, he guessed the act had some significance.