The Blood of Gods A Novel of Rome - By Conn Iggulden Page 0,30

arm gripped and his fingers forced open. The ring was tossed through the air and the tribune caught it easily, peering closely at it in the gloom. His eyebrows raised as he studied the seal marked in the gold.

‘Just a month ago, this would have gained you entry almost anywhere, young man. But now it only raises questions. Who are you and how did you come to have this in your possession?’

Octavian tensed his jaw defiantly and it was Agrippa who decided enough was enough.

‘His name is Gaius Octavian Thurinus, a relative of Caesar. He speaks the truth.’

The tribune digested the information with a thoughtful expression.

‘I believe I have heard that name. And you?’

‘Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa, sir. Centurion Captain of the fleet, sir.’

‘I see. Well, gentlemen, a ring from Caesar has won you a place at my table, at least for an hour. Have you eaten?’

Agrippa shook his head, dumbfounded at the sudden change in manner.

‘I’ll order for you when the tavern-keeper wakes up. Gracchus? Throw a bucket of slops on him … and spend a moment or two teaching him that stealing has consequences, if you wouldn’t mind. I’ll need to find a new inn tomorrow.’

‘Yes, sir,’ the legionary responded. He had recovered his dignity and looked with satisfaction on the unconscious figure sprawled beneath the bar.

‘Come, gentlemen,’ the tribune said, gesturing back to his table and his still-seated companion. ‘You have my attention. I hope you don’t regret it.’

Tribune Liburnius placed the ring on the table before them as Octavian and Agrippa pulled up chairs. He did not introduce his companion and Octavian wondered if he was a client or perhaps a spy for the tribune. The man met his eyes briefly, revealing a flash of interest and intelligence before looking away.

The tribune looked up at the sound of a bucket clattering to the ground and a stifled cry from behind the bar.

‘I’m sure the wine will be here in a moment or two,’ he said. He reached out and held the ring once more, turning it in his hands. ‘This is a dangerous little thing these days. I wonder if you realise that?’

‘I’m beginning to,’ Octavian said, touching a hand to a swelling lump by his right eye.

‘Hah! Not thieves. There is far more danger in those who are struggling even now to keep a grip on the mother city. We’re out of it here in Brundisium. If I have my way, we will remain so until order is re-established. Yet Greece is further still, so perhaps this is all news to you.’

Octavian blinked. ‘How did you know I came from Greece?’

To his surprise, Liburnius chuckled, clearly delighted.

‘By the gods, you really are young! Honestly, it makes me nostalgic for my own youth. You truly think you can come into this port, throwing silver coins around and demanding to speak to senior men, without it being reported? I dare say every rumour-monger in the city has your description by now, though perhaps not your name, not yet.’

Octavian flicked a glance at the tribune’s silent companion and the man sensed it, smiling slightly without looking up.

‘Your presence is an interesting problem for me, Octavian. I could have you sent in chains to Rome, of course, for some senator to dispose of as he sees fit, but that would gain me just a favour, or a few gold coins, hardly worth my trouble.’

‘You have no loyalty then?’ Octavian demanded. ‘The Fourth Ferrata was formed by Caesar. You must have known him.’

Tribune Liburnius looked at him, biting the inside of his lower lip in thought.

‘I knew him, yes. I cannot say we were friends. Men like Caesar have few friends, I think, only followers.’ Liburnius drummed his fingers on the table as he considered, his eyes never leaving Octavian.

The drinks arrived, brought by the tavern-keeper. The man was a bedraggled mess, his face swollen and one eye half shut. There was a piece of green vegetable in his hair. He did not look at Octavian or the tribune as he placed a jug and cups carefully and departed, limping. The legionary, Gracchus, took up his position once more, facing out.

‘And yet …’ Liburnius said softly. ‘The will of Caesar has not been read. He had a boy with the Egyptian queen, but they say he loved you also like a son. Who knows what Caesar’s gift might mean to you, when we hear? It could be that you are the horse to back, at least for now. Perhaps we can