The Gates of Rome. Conn Iggulden
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stranger came to his feet with a whoop and took a circuit of the square with his hands held high. Gaius could hear Marcus laughing and breathed deeply in the summer air as his friend stood up, brushing off the dust.
In the middle distance, beyond the vast Campus, Gaius could see the city, built on seven ancient hills centuries before. All around him were the shouts and cries of his people and underneath his feet, his land.
In hot darkness, lit only by a crescent moon that signalled the month coming to a close, the two boys made their way in silence over the fields and paths of the estate. The air was filled with the smell of fruit and flowers and crickets creaked in the bushes. They walked without speaking until they reached the place where they had stood with Tubruk earlier in the day, at the corner of the peg-marked line of a new field.
With the moon giving so little light, Gaius had to feel along the twine until he came to the broken spot at the corner and then he stood and drew a slim knife from his belt, taken from the kitchens. Concentrating, he drew the sharp blade across the ball of his thumb. It sank in deeper than he had intended and blood poured out over his hand. He passed the blade to Marcus and held the thumb high, slightly worried by the injury and hoping to slow the bleeding.
Marcus drew the knife along his own thumb, once, then twice, creating a scratch from which he squeezed a few swelling beads of blood.
‘I’ve practically cut my thumb off here!’ Gaius said irritably.
Marcus tried to look serious, but failed. He held out his hand and they pressed them together so that the blood mingled in the darkness. Then Gaius pushed his bleeding thumb into the broken ground, wincing. Marcus watched him for a long moment before copying the action.
‘Now you are a part of this estate as well and we are brothers,’ Gaius said.
Marcus nodded and in silence they began the walk back to the sprawling white buildings of the estate. Invisibly in the darkness, Marcus’ eyes brimmed and he wiped his hand over them quickly, leaving a smear of blood on his skin.
Gaius stood on the top of the estate gates, shading his eyes against the bright sun as he looked towards Rome. Tubruk had said his father would be returning from the city and he wanted to be the first to see him on the road. He spat on his hand and ran it through his dark hair to smooth it down.
He enjoyed being up away from the chores and cares of his life. The slaves below rarely looked up as they passed from one part of the estate buildings to another and it was a peculiar feeling to watch and yet be unobserved: a moment of privacy and quiet. Somewhere, his mother would be looking for him to carry a basket for her to collect fruit, or Tubruk would be looking for someone to wax and oil the leather harness of the horses and oxen, or a thousand other little tasks. Somehow, the thought of all those things he was not doing raised his spirits. They couldn’t find him and he was in his own little place, watching the road to Rome.
He saw the dust trail and stood up on the gatepost. He wasn’t sure. The rider was still far away, but there weren’t too many estates that could be reached from their road and the chances were good.
After another few minutes he was able to see the man on the horse clearly and let out a whoop, scrambling to the ground in a rush of arms and legs. The gate itself was heavy, but Gaius threw his weight against it and it creaked open enough for him to squeeze through and run off down the road to meet his father.
His child’s sandals slapped against the hard ground and he pumped his arms enthusiastically as he raced towards the approaching figure. His father had been gone for a full month and Gaius wanted to show him how much he had grown in the time. Everyone said so.
‘Tata!’ he called and his father heard and reined in as the boy ran up to him. He looked tired and dusty, but Gaius saw the beginnings of a smile crease against the blue eyes.
‘Is this a beggar, or a small bandit, I see on the road?’ his father said, reaching out an arm to lift his son to the saddle.
Gaius laughed as he was swung into the air and gripped his father’s back as the horse began a slower walk up to the estate walls.
‘You are taller than when I saw you last,’ his father said, his voice light.
‘A little. Tubruk says I am growing like corn.’
His father nodded in response and there was a friendly silence between them that lasted until they reached the gates. Gaius slid off the horse’s back and heaved the gate wide enough for his father to enter the estate.
‘Will you be home for long this time?’
His father dismounted and ruffled his hair, ruining the spit-smoothness he’d worked at.
‘A few days, perhaps a week. I wish it was more, but there is always work to be done for the Republic.’ He handed the reins to his son. ‘Take old Mercury here to the stables and rub him down properly. I’ll see you again after I have inspected the staff and spoken to your mother.’
Gaius’ open expression tightened at the mention of Aurelia and his father noticed. He sighed and put his hand on his son’s shoulder, making him meet his gaze.
‘I want to spend more time away from the city, lad, but what I do is important to me. Do you understand the word “Republic”?’
Gaius nodded and his father looked sceptical.
‘I doubt it. Few enough of my fellow senators seem to. We live an idea, a system of government that allows everyone to have a voice, even the common man. Do you realise how rare that is? Every other little country I have known has a king or a chief running it. He gives land to his friends and takes money from those who fall out with him. It is like having a child loose with a sword.
‘In Rome, we have the rule of law. It is not yet perfect or even as fair as I would like, but it tries to be and that is what I devote my life to. It is worth my life – and yours too when the time comes.’
‘I miss you, though,’ Gaius replied, knowing it was selfish.
His father’s gaze hardened slightly, then he reached out to ruffle Gaius’ hair once more.
‘And I miss you too. Your knees are filthy and that tunic is more suitable for a street child, but I miss you too. Go and clean yourself up – but only after you have rubbed Mercury down.’
He watched his son trudge away, leading the horse, and smiled ruefully. He was a little taller, Tubruk was right.
In the stables, Gaius rubbed the flanks of his father’s horse, smoothing away sweat and dust and thinking over his father’s words. The idea of a republic sounded very fine, but being a king was clearly more exciting.
Whenever Gaius’ father Julius had been away for a long absence, Aurelia insisted on a formal meal in the long triclinium. The two boys would sit on children’s stools next to the long couches, on which Aurelia and her husband would recline barefoot, with the food served on low tables by the household slaves.
Gaius and Marcus hated the meals. They were forbidden to chatter and sat in painful silence through each course, allowing the table servants only a quick rub of their fingers between dipping them into the food. Although their appetites were large, Gaius and Marcus had learned not to offend Aurelia by eating too quickly and so were forced to chew and swallow as slowly as the adults while the evening shadows lengthened.
Bathed and dressed in clean clothes, Gaius felt hot and uncomfortable with his parents. His father had put aside the informality of their meeting on the road and now talked with his wife as if the two boys did not exist. Gaius watched his mother closely when he could, looking for the trembling that would signal one of her fits. At first, they had terrified him and left him sobbing, but after years an emotional callousness had grown, and occasionally he even hoped for the trembling so that he and Marcus would be sent from the table.
He tried to listen and be interested in the conversation, but it was all about developments in the laws and city ordinances. His father never seemed to come home with exciting stories of executions or famous street villains.
‘You