The Blood of Gods A Novel of Rome - By Conn Iggulden Page 0,43

lawful authority who refused orders at a time of national crisis – and the consul would have us forgive them without punishment? It is unconscionable. Instead, I suggest to this house that only one of consular authority can take the will of the Senate and see it carried out. I recommend that Consul Mark Antony travel to that city and decimate each of the six legions there. The public death of a few thousand common soldiers will make the point for us far better than any rhetoric or noble speeches. It will be a mark that legions will remember in the future when mutiny rears its head once more. “Remember Brundisium” they will say, and it will die still-born before it has even begun.’

There were cheers then and Bibilus patted the air for quiet.

‘Not many of us here have been quite as fortunate as the consul in the recent riots. Unlike the leader of this house, we have lost property and slaves to fire and looting. Perhaps if he had suffered with us, he would have a better understanding of the stakes involved!’

A great roar of appreciation echoed around the theatre. Mark Antony kept his face a mask. It was true his properties had remained untouched in the riots while those of other senators had been deliberately targeted. He had been a friend of Caesar, his name whispered as the one who had delivered the oration, who had inspired the crowds to revenge for the assassination. The Senate were still seen as the men who had brought Caesar down and that rankled with them.

As Bibilus sat, Mark Antony rose, judging the moment was right and preferring not to let the poisonous Suetonius speak as well.

‘I am a servant of Rome, as Senator Bibilus knows full well. If it is the will of this house that I carry your orders to Brundisium, I will do so. However, let my objections be made part of the record. Such an action achieves nothing but revenge at a time when we must be unified. I call the matter to a vote.’

The voting was over in a matter of moments, with a triumphant jeer ringing out through the theatre. Bibilus sat back with his friends patting him on the back. They had shown what they thought of Caesar’s favourite.

Mark Antony continued to play his part, hiding his satisfaction. He waited through a few minor speeches and discussions, hardly contributing, until the senators were ready to depart. He endured Bibilus’ insolent triumph as the man levered his bulk up to leave, surrounded by his favourites. Mark Antony shook his head slightly. Julius had never spoken of what passed between those two men, but Mark Antony had made a few enquiries of his own. Caesar had taken a group of child slaves from the ex-consul’s house, passing them to families without children. Bibilus had replaced them with adults and never bought a child since that day. The truth was there to be read and Mark Antony wondered if Bibilus had resumed his old cruelties now that Caesar was gone. He made a private vow to have the man watched. He had been ruined once and could be again.

As Mark Antony came out into the open air, the Campus Martius stretched into the distance, the great training field of the city. It was almost hidden from view by the loyal legions camped there and he felt a pang of doubt. If he succeeded in taking control of the army at Brundisium, it would be a challenge to the new authority of the Senate. The legions before him on the Campus might be ordered to march against him. As his lictors gathered, he firmed his jaw. He had come too far, risen too far, to sink back into the mass of men claiming to rule Rome. He had Caesar’s example to follow. Men like Bibilus and Suetonius would not be able to stop him. For the first time in years, Mark Antony thought he understood Julius a little better. He felt alive with the challenge and the tasks ahead. To rule Rome, he needed the legions at Brundisium. With them at his command, he would be immune from anything the Senate could do. That prize was surely worth the risk.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Evening was coming on in smooth shades of grey by the time Octavian reached the street on the Aventine hill where the consul had his main property. He yawned, suppressing tiredness. From the moment at dawn when he had