The Blood of Gods A Novel of Rome - By Conn Iggulden Page 0,112

and Cassius stopped again as he spoke. Both men glared at him, but he continued, refusing to be cowed.

‘So which of you will be emperor when this is over? Which of you will rule Rome as king?’

‘Suetonius, I don’t think you …’ Cassius began. To his surprise, Suetonius held up a flat palm, cutting him off.

‘I knew you when you were just a boy, Brutus; do you remember?’

‘Oh, I remember,’ Brutus said.

A warning had crept into his tone, but Suetonius ignored it. The crowd continued to flow around them.

‘You and I believed in the Republic then, not just as a fantasy but as something real, something worth dying for. Julius never did. The Republic is worth a life, remember? It was also worth a death. That is what we were trying to save, but the way you talk, it’s almost as if you have forgotten it. Do you recall how you once hated men like Pompey and Cornelius Sulla? Generals like Marius who would do anything if it brought them power? Caesar was one of those, part of the same miserable illness – and his adopted son is another. If Octavian is killed, if he is defeated, it must not be just to put another like him in his place. The old Republic depends on the goodwill of those strong enough to tear it apart, but it is worth more than a few men. I have given my life to this cause and I will die for it if I have to. Those are the stakes – more than a war, or a fleet, or another dictator. After this, we will either have emperors or we will have free men. That is why we resist Octavian: not for revenge, or to protect ourselves, but because we believe in the Republic – and he does not.’

Brutus had been going to speak for a time, but he closed his mouth. Cassius looked at him in surprise.

‘I think you have silenced our general, Senator!’ He chuckled to lighten the moment, but no one joined him.

‘I think at least one of us should think about what happens when we win, Cassius, don’t you?’ Suetonius replied coldly. ‘This is a chance to restore the old liberties, the compact between free citizens and the state, the great freedom. Or we can be just another branch of the vine that has been strangling Rome for fifty years.’

He reached into his pouch and brought out the coin Brutus had given him, holding it up.

‘“Saviour of the Republic,”’ he read aloud. ‘Well, why not, Brutus? Why not?’

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The heel of Italy was lost in the mist and gloom as the fleet of galleys struggled around it in rough, grey seas. Sextus wiped salt water from his eyes as it sprayed over him. He knew better than most how poorly his crews handled a storm. So that they could skip across shallow waters, the galleys had no deep keels, but that great speed brought instability and in rough seas the oars had to be used to prevent the galleys from turning over.

Sextus could see the storm coming in fast on the horizon, a bank of dark cloud with distant threads of rainfall spilling from it. The entire cloud flashed and the sea seemed to respond, the swell surging and showing white foam.

His legion captain was vomiting over the side and Sextus shuddered as he felt flecks of it blown back on the wind, striking his face and neck.

‘By Mars, go downwind, would you?’ he shouted angrily.

The miserable man shuffled to the stern without taking his hands from the rail. Sextus walked up the rolling deck to the prow, staring out over the grey vastness. All around him, he could see dozens of galleys plunging through the waves. They were at their most vulnerable when the oars had to be brought in, the openings sealed with tar-cloth so that the rowing decks didn’t become swamped. Some of his galleys had already given the order and raised a tiny storm sail, while many more laboured on with the oars out and freezing water pouring through the gaps in the wooden walls. The men inside would be baling for their lives, but at least the galleys could be controlled. For the others, only a scrap of cloth, steering oars and rare glimpses of the southern coast guided them around the mainland.

Sextus swallowed nervously, waiting for the crash that would tell him one of them had struck a rock, or perhaps each other. There