The Blood of Gods A Novel of Rome - By Conn Iggulden Page 0,45

already voted. They will pay the legacy only when the damage to the city is restored. I will be away from Rome for a time, on orders from the Senate. There is nothing more I can do.’

Octavian stared at him, hardly able to believe what he was hearing. ‘I came to you in peace, because I thought you, of all men, would support me.’

‘What you thought is no concern of mine,’ Mark Antony snapped. He turned to the unseen figure on his right. ‘Close the door now.’

It began to creak shut and Octavian put out a hand to the wood.

‘Consul! I will have justice, with you or not. I will see Caesar’s assassins brought down, no matter what they call themselves or where they hide! Will you stand with them, against the honour of your friend?’

He heard Mark Antony snort in disgust as he walked away and the pressure on the door increased as the man inside threw his weight against it. It slammed shut in his face. Octavian hammered on it, enraged.

‘Consul! Choose a side! If you stand with them, I will …’

‘By the gods, grab hold of him, would you?’ Maecenas said.

He and Agrippa took Octavian by the shoulders and pulled him away from pounding on the consul’s door.

‘That may have been the worst idea you ever had,’ Maecenas said grimly as they walked Octavian down the hill. ‘Why not shout out all your plans to the Senate, perhaps?’

Octavian shook him off, walking in stiff rage and looking back at the consul’s door as if he could force it open with anger alone.

‘He had to be told. If he has the sense to see it, I am his natural ally. If he wasn’t such a blind fool.’

‘Did you think he would welcome you with open arms?’ Maecenas said. ‘He is a consul of Rome!’

‘And I am Caesar’s son and heir. That is the key to all locks, with or without Mark Antony.’

Maecenas looked away, unsettled by his friend’s intensity.

‘It’s late,’ Agrippa said. ‘What do you say to going back to the house on the Esquiline?’

Octavian smothered a yawn at the very thought of sleep. The house was one of five he had inherited that morning, the deeds presented to him by the argentarii.

‘Without a law passed in Senate, I am not yet the official heir to Caesar,’ he said. A thought struck him, so that he stopped, bringing the small group to a halt. ‘But thousands heard the priestess read the will. That was enough for the argentarii. What does it matter if the law isn’t passed? The people know.’

‘The people have no power,’ Agrippa said. ‘No matter how they riot, they are still helpless.’

‘That is true,’ Octavian replied. ‘But there were soldiers there as well. The legions in the Campus know that I am Caesar. And they do have power, enough for anything.’

By the time night fell, the consul and his retinue were barely three miles out of Rome, trundling along the flat roads east. Mark Antony had called a brief halt at the walls of the city, dismounting to burn a brazier of incense to Janus. The god of beginnings and gates was a suitable patron for everything he hoped to achieve.

Over a hundred men and women travelled with him. His wife Fulvia was at the heart of it, with their two sons, Antyllus and Paulus, and her daughter Claudia from her first marriage. Around them, dozens of scribes, guards and slaves marched or rode. The reins of his horse were tied to a flat-sided carriage where his wife lounged on cushions, shaded from the vulgar gaze. He could hear his boys bickering through the wooden walls, still annoyed that he had refused their demands to ride ahead with him. Only Fulvia knew all his plans and she was far from a prattler. He jumped down to the road and strode along, stretching his legs for the ride ahead.

The legions at Brundisium had been loyal to Julius, loyal enough to refuse the orders of a Senate they saw as tainted by the Liberatores. That was the revelation that had come to him while Bibilus spoke in spite. Mark Antony had not planned to be the champion of those who had loved Caesar, but he could take the role. The legions of Brundisium would surely follow him if he asked in Caesar’s name.

As he walked alongside the carriage, the face of Octavian came to mind and Mark Antony grunted in exasperation. The young man was no more