The Blood of Gods A Novel of Rome - By Conn Iggulden Page 0,54
fresh melon and slices of orange. Mark Antony had ridden hard for three nights and was weary enough to call for a tisane of heated wine and herbs to restore him. The tavern-keeper was nervously obsequious as he brought the tall cups, bowing and retreating at the same time. The consul had the power to order thousands of men dead by the end of the day and the people of Brundisium whispered of nothing else as he finished his food and sat back.
On impulse, Mark Antony rose and walked out to the seafront, taking a path to the rocky crags that overlooked the deep waters. He took pleasure in the sharp air, away from the smell of too many people crammed into too small a space. It cleared his head to stare out across the sea.
The sight of the fleet and the rising sun improved his spirits, a floating symbol of Roman power. He only wished he had somewhere to send them, but his objectives lay with the soldiers of the legions. For the time being, he was the Senate in transit, their plenipotentiary, with all their authority lodged in him. He made a mental note to tell his wife Fulvia how it felt when she arrived.
As he walked back into the streets, Mark Antony spotted two of his men dogtrotting along the road towards him. They drew up and saluted.
‘Where are the legates?’ he demanded.
‘They have gathered in the main square to wait for you, sir.’
‘Very well,’ he said, striding on. ‘Lead the way, I haven’t been here for years.’
He could hear the noise and voices filtering back through the side roads long before he reached the central square. It was the Roman forum in miniature, with too many soldiers in it for comfort. The consul had an unpleasant memory of the last crowd he’d addressed.
A shout went up when he was spotted and centurions with vine sticks cleared a path for him, shoving men back with curses and oaths so that the consul could walk forward. Mark Antony did not have to feign a grim countenance. He had expected to find soldiers terrified of senatorial justice. Instead, he saw only anger as he walked through them. Any commander knew he occasionally had to be deaf when he walked through his men, but this was more than cheerful mockery from the safety of a crowd. The legions heaved and struggled against their officers and the insults were obscene.
It was customary for a consul to be greeted with cheers and applause as he stepped up to a platform to address a legion. Mark Antony left his guards at the base, but as he climbed the steps, the noise fell away, leaving only the six legates clapping him on. In such a packed space, it was a pitiful sound, followed quickly by hard laughter. The legates were sweating as he stood at the oak rostrum. Mark Antony had a fine voice and he drew himself up to make it echo back from the buildings around the square.
‘I am consul of Rome, the Senate-in-transit. In my person the authority of Rome resides, that I may judge others for their offences against the state.’
The laughter and calls died away. He let the silence stretch, choosing how he would proceed. He had intended to show mercy and so win them to his side, but somehow they had been turned against him.
‘What of your offences?’ a voice yelled suddenly from somewhere in the crowd. ‘What of Caesar?’
Mark Antony gripped the rostrum with his big hands, leaning forward. He realised they saw him only as a representative of the Senate. He was lucky they had not rushed the platform where he stood.
‘You talk of Caesar?’ he snapped. ‘I am the man who gave his funeral oration, who stood with his body as it was consumed in fire. I was his friend. When Rome called on me, I did not hesitate. I followed the lawful path. None of you can say the same.’
He was about to continue, but more and more voices shouted out angrily against him, individual complaints lost in the raucous bawling. When it did not die down, he saw some of them were actually leaving, walking off in all directions from the square as if he could say nothing they wanted to hear. He turned in frustration to the legates at his back.
‘Bring out the troublemakers, gentlemen. I will make an example of them to the rest.’