The Gates of Rome. Conn Iggulden
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raised his whip in his other hand and brought it down sharply, in sequence with his words.
‘You will not distract these boys while I teach.’
The girl was crying as Renius let her go. She crawled a couple of paces, then came up to a crouch and ran from the yard, sobbing.
Marcus and Gaius looked dumbfounded at Renius as he turned back to them. His expression was murderous.
‘Close your mouths, boys. This was never a game. I will make you good enough and hard enough to serve the Republic after I am gone. I will not allow weakness of any kind. Now raise the stones and hold them until I say to cease.’
Once again, the boys raised their arms, not even daring to exchange glances.
That evening, when the estate was quiet and Renius had departed for the city, Gaius delayed his usual exhausted collapse into sleep to visit the slave quarters. He felt guilty being there and kept an eye out for Tubruk’s shadow, though he couldn’t quite have explained why.
The household slaves slept under the same roof as the family, in a wing of simple rooms. It was not a world he knew and he felt nervous as he walked along the darkening corridors, wondering whether he should knock at doors, or call her name, if it really was Alexandria.
He found her sitting on a low ledge outside an open door. She seemed lost in thought and he cleared his throat gently as he recognised her. She scrambled to her feet in fright and then held herself still, looking at the floor. She had cleaned the dust of the day from her skin and it was smooth and pale in the evening light. Her hair was tied back with a scrap of cloth and her eyes were wide with darkness.
‘Is your name Alexandria?’ he said quietly.
She nodded.
‘I came to say sorry for today. I was watching you at your chores and Renius thought you were distracting us.’
She stood perfectly still in front of him and kept her gaze on the floor at his feet. The silence stretched for a moment and he blushed, unsure how to continue.
‘Look, I am sorry. He was cruel.’
Still, she said nothing. Her thoughts were pained, but this was the son of the house. ‘I am a slave,’ she longed to say. ‘Every day is pain and humiliation. You have nothing to say to me.’
Gaius waited for a few more moments and then walked away, wishing he hadn’t come.
Alexandria watched him leave, watched the confident walk and the developing strength that Renius was bringing out. He would be as vicious as that old gladiator when he was older. He was free and Roman. His compassion came from his youth and that was fast being burned away in the training yard. Her face was hot with the anger she had not dared show. It was a small victory not to have talked to him, but she cherished it.
Renius reported their progress at the end of each quarter-year. On the evening before the appointed day, Gaius’ father would return from his lodgings in the capital and receive Tubruk’s summary of the estate’s wealth. He would see the boys and spend a few minutes extra with his son. The following day, he would see Renius at dawn and the boys would sleep in, grateful for the slight break in their routine.
The first report had been frustratingly short.
‘They have made a beginning. Both have some spirit,’ Renius had stated flatly.
After a long pause, Julius realised that there was to be no further comment.
‘They are obedient?’ he asked, wondering at the lack of information. For this he’d paid so much gold?
‘Of course,’ Renius replied, his expression baffled.
‘They er … they show promise?’ Julius battled on, refusing to allow this conversation to go the way of the last one, but again feeling as if he addressed one of his old tutors instead of a man in his employ.
‘A beginning has been made. This work is not accomplished quickly.’
‘Nothing of value ever is,’ Julius replied quietly.
They looked at each other calmly for a moment and both nodded. The interview was at an end. The old warrior shook hands with a brief touch of dry skin in a quick, hard grip and left. Julius remained standing, gazing at the door that closed behind his exit.
Tubruk thought the training methods were dangerous and had mentioned an incident where the boys could have drowned without supervision. Julius grimaced. He knew that to mention the worry to Renius would be to sever their agreement. Preventing the old murderer from going too far would rest with the estate manager.
Sighing, he sat down and thought about the problems he faced in Rome. Cornelius Sulla had continued to rise in power, bringing some towns in the south of the country into the Roman fold and away from their merchant controllers. What was the name of that last? Pompeii, some sort of mountain town. Sulla kept his name in the mind of the vacuous public with such small triumphs. He commanded a group of senators with a web of lies, bribery and flattery. They were all young and brought a shudder to the old soldier as he thought of some of them. If this was what Rome was coming to, in his lifetime!
Instead of taking the business of empire seriously, they seemed to live only for sordid pleasures of the most dubious kinds, worshipping at the temple of Aphrodite and calling themselves the ‘New Romans’. There were few things that still caused outrage in the temples of the Capitol, but this new group seemed intent on finding the limits and breaking them, one by one. One of the people’s tribunes had been found murdered, one who opposed Sulla whenever possible. This would not have been too remarkable in itself; he had been found in a pool, made red by a swiftly opened vein in his leg, a not uncommon mode of death. The problem was that his children too had been found killed, which looked like a warning to others. There were no clues and no witnesses. It was unlikely the murderer would ever be found, but before another tribune could be elected, Sulla had forced through a resolution that gave a general greater autonomy in the field. He had argued the need himself and was eloquent and passionate in his persuasion. The Senate had voted and his power had grown a little more, while the power of the Republic was nibbled away.
Julius had so far managed to stay neutral, but as he was related by marriage to another of the power players, his wife’s brother Marius, he knew eventually that sides would have to be chosen. A wise man could see the changes coming, but it saddened him that the equalities of the Republic were felt as chains by more and more of the hotheads in Senate. Marius too felt that a powerful man could use the law rather than obey it. Already, he had proven this by making a mockery of the system used to elect consuls. Roman law said that a consul could only be elected once by the Senate and must then step down from the position. Marius had recently secured his third election with martial victories against the Cimbri tribes and the Teutones, whom he had smashed with the Primigenia legion. He was still a lion of the emerging Rome, and Julius would have to find the protection of his shadow if Cornelius Sulla continued to grow in power.
Favours would be owed and some of his autonomy would be lost if he threw his colours into the camp of Marius, but it might be the only wise choice. He wished he could consult his wife and listen to her quick mind dissect the problem as she had used to. Always, she could see an angle on a problem, or a point of view that no one else could see. He missed her wry smile and the way she would press her palms against his eyes when he was tired, bringing a wonderful coolness and peace …
He moved quietly through the corridors to Aurelia’s rooms and paused outside the door, listening to her long slow breaths, barely audible in the silence.
Carefully, he entered the room and crossed over to the sleeping figure, kissing her lightly on the brow. She didn’t stir and he sat by the bed, watching her.
Asleep, she seemed the woman he remembered. At any moment, she could wake and her eyes would fill with intelligence and wit. She would laugh to see him sitting there in the shadows and pull back the covers, inviting him in to the warmth of her.
‘Who can I turn to, my love?’ he whispered. ‘Who should I support and trust to