The Blood of Gods A Novel of Rome - By Conn Iggulden Page 0,37

his arm from a grip of surprising strength. He had not seen Maecenas spar or train in their rush from the coast and he never noticed the short blade in the noble’s other hand as he let go, or the fact that Agrippa was behind him, ready to hammer him into the ground at the first sign of aggression.

The list of clients and individual bequests seemed to take an age. Octavian glowered in disgust when he heard the name of Brutus and the huge sum of gold left to him. There was no mention of Cleopatra and the son that she had borne. All Maecenas’ friends knew was that she had left Rome after the assassination, presumably to go home to Egypt.

‘“The rest is the property of Gaius Octavian, adopted as my son, into the house of Julii. I leave Rome in your hands.”’

Octavian felt his eyes sting. It was too easy to imagine Julius sitting in some quiet room, writing the words in wax, with the future laid out before him. Octavian began to wish he was alive for the thousandth time since hearing the news, then wrestled himself free of the thought as it formed. There was no going back, no wishing away of the new Rome.

The priestess handed down the last tablet and saw it placed with reverence back into the chest. One of her acolytes put out a hand and she stepped down, her part finished. Octavian looked around him as the crowd exhaled held breaths and began to talk. He saw Mark Antony nod to his men and begin to move.

‘Time to go, I think,’ Maecenas said softly by his ear. ‘We can use the house of Brucellus this evening. It is untouched by the riots and he promises to provide a fine meal for us. There is a lot to discuss.’

Octavian felt his friend’s hand on his shoulder, gently pushing him away from the temple of Vesta. He resisted, suddenly sick of being made to walk in secrecy in his own city.

‘Priestess!’ he shouted, without warning.

Maecenas stiffened at his side.

‘What are you doing?’ he hissed. ‘Half the Senate have spies here! Let me get you away first and then we can decide what to do.’

Octavian shook his head.

‘Priestess!’ he called again.

Quintina Fabia paused in the act of accepting a mantle of rich cloth from one of her followers. She looked around, finding him from the reaction of the crowd as they stared.

‘I am Gaius Octavian, named as heir in the will you have just read,’ he said clearly.

Maecenas groaned, keeping his dagger ready in case one of the crowd attacked them. None of them knew their enemies in the city, not yet.

‘What do you want of me?’ she said. It was rumoured that she had been an actress in her youth. Whether that was true or not, she had a performer’s instinct, ignoring the offered cloak and stepping back onto the low platform.

‘I wish to record a change of name with you, as the keeper of records.’

The priestess cocked her head slightly as she thought. The young man she faced in the crowd had just been given incredible wealth, if he could live long enough to lay hands on it. She glanced over to where Mark Antony watched the scene playing out between them. Her first instinct had been to tell Octavian to wait for an audience, but under that sulphurous gaze, the corner of her mouth quirked.

‘What name would suit the heir to Rome?’ she said.

‘Only one,’ Octavian replied. ‘Gaius Julius Caesar, that I may honour the man whose name I will bear.’

Quintina Fabia smiled wider at that, delighted at the bravado of the young Roman. His friends stood in shock around him, while she wanted to applaud.

‘You will need two witnesses of good standing to swear to your identity,’ she said, after a moment’s hesitation. ‘Come and see me at noon, in the House of Virgins.’ She paused again, watching Mark Antony from under her lashes. The consul was standing like a stunned ox.

‘Welcome home, Octavian,’ she said.

He nodded, mute. Away on his right, the consul began to stride off and Octavian turned to follow him.

‘Consul!’ he shouted.

Maecenas put a hand on his arm. ‘Don’t do anything rash, Octavian,’ he murmured. ‘Let him go.’

Octavian brushed off the hand and kept going.

‘He was Caesar’s friend,’ he said. ‘He will hear me.’

‘Agrippa!’ Maecenas called.

‘Here.’

The big man was already moving, pushing through the packed crowd after Octavian. With a curse, the legionary Gracchus followed in