The Blood of Gods A Novel of Rome - By Conn Iggulden Page 0,59
the shelter was snug and proof against rain, with couches, tables and low beds laid out inside like any command post on campaign. As if to make them prove their competence, dark clouds came in as the sun set. A light drizzle dampened the holiday atmosphere of the legions as they cooked a meal and found whatever shelter they could.
Octavian stood looking out on the darkening forum, with one shoulder resting against an oak beam, much marked and holed from previous use. Around him, legionaries moved with lamps and oil, refilling and trimming wicks so that the legates would have light. He had gambled everything on this one action and for that night at least he was the power in Rome. All he had to do was keep it.
He yawned, pressing a hand to his mouth.
‘You should eat, sir,’ Gracchus said. The legionary held a wooden plate covered in strips of various meats, sliced thin. Octavian smiled wearily.
‘I will, in a while.’ On impulse, he decided to speak again, addressing a problem he had ignored for days. ‘I am surprised to see you still here, Gracchus. Is it not time for you to return to Tribune Liburnius?’
The legionary just stared dully at him.
‘Are you even on my side?’ Octavian continued. ‘How can I tell? It wasn’t so long ago that you were thinking of flogging me in the street for disturbing your tribune.’
Gracchus looked away, his face shadowed against the warm light from the lamps.
‘You were not Caesar then, sir,’ he said uncomfortably.
‘Send him home to Brundisium,’ Maecenas called from behind them. His friend was already seated with Agrippa and the two legates, enjoying a spread of cold food and warm wine.
‘You are not a client of mine, Gracchus, nor your family. I have seen the lists now. You owe me nothing, so why do you stay?’ Octavian sighed. ‘Is it the thought of gold?’
The legionary considered for a moment.
‘Mainly, yes,’ he said.
His honesty surprised Octavian into laughing.
‘You’ve never been poor, sir, or you would not laugh,’ Gracchus said, his mouth a thin line.
‘Oh, you’re wrong, Gracchus, and I’m not laughing at you. I have been poor – and starving. My father died when I was very young and if it hadn’t been for Caesar, I suppose I could very well be standing where you are now.’ He became serious, studying the man who had almost strangled him in a tavern.
‘Gracchus, I need men around me who are loyal, who will take the risks with me and not think of the rewards. I am not playing a game. I will see these Liberatores destroyed and I don’t care if I have to spend all Caesar’s fortunes to do it. I will throw away the years of my youth for the chance to break those men. Yet if gold is your only ambition, you can be bought by my enemies.’
Gracchus looked at his feet, frustration making him grim. In truth, it was not just the thought of gold that kept him there. He had lived with these men for some of the most extraordinary days of his life.
‘I am not a man who speaks well,’ he said slowly. ‘You cannot trust me, I know that. But I’ve lived with the fear of senators, no … I’m not making it clear. You are taking them on. It’s not just about coins …’ He waved a hand, almost dropping the plate. ‘I’d like to stay. I’ll earn your trust in time, I promise.’
The rest of them were quiet at the table, hardly bothering to pretend they were not all listening. Octavian leaned away from the beam, intending to invite Gracchus to join them for the meal. As he moved, he felt the weight of a pouch at his waist. On impulse, he untied the leather thongs that bound it to his belt and held it up.
‘Put the plate down and hold out your hands, Gracchus,’ he said.
The legionary went to the table and returned.
‘Hold them out, go on,’ Octavian prompted.
He emptied the pouch into Gracchus’ hands, a stream of heavy gold coins. The legionary’s eyes widened at the sight of a small fortune.
‘Twenty … two, twenty-three aurei, Gracchus. Each one worth around a hundred silver sesterces. What is that? Five or six years’ pay for your rank? At least that much, I should think.’
‘I don’t understand, sir,’ Gracchus said warily. He could hardly drag his eyes away from the yellow coins, but when he did, Octavian was still watching him.