The Blood of Gods A Novel of Rome - By Conn Iggulden Page 0,32
the worse, or those of your son, perhaps then my promise will be the most valuable thing you own.’
Liburnius made a fig hand quickly to avert even the suggestion of an evil fate in store for him. He shoved his thumb between the first and second fingers of his right hand and pointed it at Octavian. After a pause, he unclenched his hand and let it fall to the table.
‘With that promise and ten thousand in gold, I will have ten thousand in gold,’ he muttered.
Octavian shrugged. ‘I cannot promise what I don’t have,’ he said.
‘That is why I asked you for a tenth, boy. You cannot lose by such an arrangement.’
Octavian knew he should have agreed, but something stubborn in him still refused. He folded his arms.
‘I have said all there is to say. Accept my favour and one day it could save your life. If you remember Caesar, consider how he would want you to act.’ Octavian looked up at the ceiling of the tavern. ‘He died at the hands of men who now live well. If he can see us now, will he see you treat me with honour or disdain?’
He waited for an answer and Liburnius drummed his fingers on the wood, the only sound in the tavern. For an instant, his eyes flickered upward, as if he too was imagining Julius watching.
‘I can’t decide if you don’t understand … or you just don’t care to preserve your life,’ he said. ‘I have met a few like you in my time, young officers mostly, with no sense of their own mortality. Some rose, but most of them are long dead, victims of their own overconfidence. Do you understand what I am saying to you?’
‘I do. Gamble on me, Tribune. I will not be brought down easily.’
Liburnius blew air from his lips in a wet sound.
‘To be brought down, you have first to rise.’ He made a decision. ‘Very well. Gracchus? Fetch me a parchment, reed and ink. I will have this poor bargain sealed in front of witnesses.’
Octavian knew better than to speak again. He worked hard to hide the triumph that seared through him.
‘When that is done, I will secure your passage to Rome. The will is to be read in eight days, which gives you time to spare to get there, on good horses. I trust you will not object to Gracchus travelling with you to keep you safe? There are bandits on the road and I would like to be among the first to hear what Caesar left to his city and his clients.’
Octavian nodded. He watched Liburnius dip the hollow reed with a sharpened tip and write with a sure hand. The tavern-keeper brought a lit candle and the tribune melted wax, dripping a fat glob of it onto the dry parchment, so that oil spread beneath. Octavian pressed his ring into the soft surface and the two guards added a scrawled ‘X’ where Liburnius had written their names. It was done.
Liburnius sat back, relaxing.
‘More wine, I think, Gracchus. You know, lad, when you are my age, if you should be lucky enough to live that long, when colour and taste and even ambition have lost the brightness you think is so natural, I hope you will meet a young cockerel just like you are now – so you can see what I see. I hope you will remember me then. It is a bitter-sweet thing, believe me, but you will not understand until that day.’
A new jug arrived and Liburnius poured the cups full to brimming.
‘Drink with me, lad. Drink to Rome and glorious foolishness.’
Without looking away, Octavian raised his cup, draining it in quick swallows.
CHAPTER SIX
The first light of the sun showed over the Esquiline and Viminal hills, gilding the roofs around the forum and reaching across to the Palatine on the far side. The round temple of Vesta there gleamed with the rest, coming alive after the darkness. Neither that ancient building nor the much larger House of Virgins behind had been touched by the fires raging through the city. Their own sacred flame still burned in the hearth of the temple and the bands of rioters had steered clear of the wrath of the goddess, making the fig hand or the horned hand to ward off her curse and moving on.
Mark Antony knew he cut a fine figure as he walked across the forum. As well as six lictors, carrying the traditional axes and bound rods for scourging,