The Blood of Gods A Novel of Rome - By Conn Iggulden Page 0,108
me. It might be an idea to think of those years as you make your choices.’
Octavian considered for a moment. He knew Caesar had been warned many times about assassins and always ignored the threat.
‘I will be ready for anything, Pedius. You have my word on it.’
‘Good.’ Pedius smiled. ‘I have come to enjoy being consul with you, young man. I don’t want it to come to an end too soon.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Brutus smothered his anger, which was more at his own failing stamina than the Greek who danced around him with the training sword. There had been a time when he could have humiliated the younger man with ease, but a large part of his speed had vanished over the years. Only his daily routine of sparring kept his fitness from disappearing completely.
He knew his face and bare chest were red as he heated up. Each breath felt as if it came from an oven and sweat poured off him while his opponent still looked fresh. It was galling and ultimately pointless, but he wished for just a moment of his youth to return so he could batter the Greek into quick submission.
Cleanthes was still wary of the Roman governor who had challenged him to a sparring bout. For all the difference of thirty years in their ages, he had not been able to land a crippling blow, only to stripe the man’s arms with the red ink daubed on his wooden blade. Even so, he felt the bout turning in his favour and it did not hurt to have his friends calling their encouragement from the side of the training ground. Athens may have been ruled by Rome, but the crowd were open in their support for the young Greek.
Driven on by their cheering, Cleanthes blocked an attack with his buckler shield and lunged at the Roman’s throat. It was a dangerous blow, one of the few that could be fatal with the wooden weapons. Brutus tensed with anger as he knocked it aside, launching a series of strikes that forced Cleanthes back step by step. He had once been very, very good and his form was still impressive, though he was panting and sweat spattered from his wet hair.
Cleanthes hesitated rather than press back. Everything he had learned in the sparring classes had failed to break through the man’s guard. Yet he did not want to win by virtue of exhausting his opponent. He faced Brutus squarely and brought his sword back to the scabbard position on his hip. They wore only leggings and there was no strap to hold the weapon, but his intention was clear. Brutus curled his lip, yet he too had been arrogant once. He accepted the threat and stepped in close, watching Cleanthes carefully as he brought his own sword back to his hip, ready for a single strike. It was the sort of thing that appealed to young men, a test of draw speed alone. Brutus watched the eyes of the younger man, relaxing himself completely.
The attack came without warning, a blow that Cleanthes had practised a thousand times in his young life. He made the decision to move and his hand whipped the sword up fast. To his shock, Cleanthes felt a line sear across the side of his throat, leaving a red stain that mingled with his sweat and dripped down his bare chest. Brutus followed it with two more quick strikes, one to the inner thigh, where a man would bleed to death quickly, and another to the Greek’s side. It happened in a heartbeat and Brutus grinned unpleasantly at him as he stepped back.
‘The second man to move is often faster; did they not teach you that?’ Brutus said. ‘If he is trained, his reaction is swifter than a planned blow.’
Cleanthes reached up to his throat and the red stain that came away on his fingers. He looked down to see the ink dripping down his right leg. The crowd had fallen silent and he bowed stiffly to the Roman governor.
‘I will remember the lesson,’ Cleanthes said. ‘Once more?’
Heads jerked round at the sound of clapping hands echoing in the training yard. Brutus saw Cassius at the rail, looking fresh and fit. He recognised Suetonius and Gaius Trebonius with him and tensed his jaw. With a quick gesture, Brutus tossed the training sword to Cleanthes, who was forced to catch it.
‘Not today,’ Brutus called over his shoulder. ‘It seems I have guests.’