The Blood of Gods A Novel of Rome - By Conn Iggulden Page 0,136

morning he would surface in confusion, batting away at unseen horrors before realising he was awake once more. As soon as he had washed and dressed, he would be back at work, cudgelling his brain into thinking of clever answers and solutions.

‘Give the consul a little room, would you?’ Agrippa snapped suddenly.

Octavian shook his head, his senses sharpening. He had been walking away from the docks, with men on all sides calling questions and trying to show him sheaves of documents. He understood he had been answering them, but for the life of him he could not recall what he’d said. Agrippa had sensed something was wrong in his friend’s blank eyes and used his size to push a few of the men aside despite their outrage.

‘No, Pentias, nothing is that important,’ Octavian heard Maecenas reply to another man’s demand. ‘Now why don’t you give us a moment without your noise? The army isn’t going to collapse because you had to wait, is it?’

Octavian had no idea who the other speaker was, but whatever he said in reply was a mistake, as Maecenas stepped hard into him and the pair were left behind for a while in furious argument.

Over the previous month the port of Dyrrhachium had changed so much as to be unrecognisable. That was one thing about legions, Octavian thought dully. They could build anything. He looked up as he reached a main road leading back into what was now a major town. Huge warehouses loomed on both sides, well guarded for the wealth of food and gear they contained. The legions had felled trees and sawed planks to be nailed and pegged together until they had made entire streets. Stores and smithies were working night and day and the stink of leather-workers’ vats lay thick in the air. It would all be left behind when they marched, but they would go with new nails in their sandals and the right tack for the extraordinarii, patched or replaced. He had seen a thousand orders for requisition and cargo and the details swam before his eyes as he walked on.

In theory, there was no reason why the clerks and factors couldn’t accompany him anywhere on the vast coastal camp. Yet as the group began to pass through the tents of soldiers, Maecenas and Agrippa managed to dissuade the others from clamouring too loudly for his attention. On the previous trip, Octavian had stopped Agrippa throwing a man into the sea as he pressed too close on the docks, but this time the strange lethargy that overcame him made it difficult to object and he merely stared as the big man held another back and told him in sharp, short words what he could do with his requisitions.

The three of them went on alone after that, with Agrippa glaring back to make sure they did not dare to follow.

‘Thank the gods this is the last time,’ Agrippa said.

The sun was still rising and the road ahead was filled with its glare and the promise of another hot day under an empty blue sky. They passed through the oldest camps, the places claimed by the first men to land six weeks before. Legionaries were early risers by instinct and order, so there were already thousands of men moving around, scraping bowls of warm oats into themselves, or sipping at hot tisanes. Many more were sparring lightly, keeping limber and loosening muscles made tight by sleeping on the stony ground. There was a friendly air to the camp and more than a few called out as they spotted Agrippa, recognising the big man and pointing him out to their tent-mates. He had become famous for a brief time: the man who had smashed the Roman fleet and won the chance to cross.

Octavian felt a weight pressing behind his eyes as he reached the top of the coastal hills and looked out onto the plains beyond. In the morning light, he could not see an end to the vast camp that stretched in all directions. It took a better eye than his to see the line of demarcation between the two forces, but it was there. Mark Antony had sole command of his own legions and Octavian felt a sullen anger at the reminder of another irritation. His colleague had insisted on crossing first. As a result, his legions had taken the very best spots near water and shade. The ex-consul then had the gall to complain at every lost day after that,