The Blood of Gods A Novel of Rome - By Conn Iggulden Page 0,63
going home.
Mark Antony thought in frowning silence, weighing the problems before him. Two full legions had broken their oaths and mutinied for a boy who called himself Caesar. If the name had that sort of effect, he could not trust that the Senate would be able to contain him. All Mark Antony’s instincts told him to strike north, to continue with his original plans against Decimus Junius. The legions of Brundisium had refused to answer orders once already. They’d come close to cutting Mark Antony to pieces when they thought he was one of those who had sanctioned Caesar’s murder. What would they do when they discovered he had been ordered to attack the man’s heir? Gods, it was impossible! The far north under Decimus Junius was ripe for plucking and he had the forces to do it. Yet he dared not leave Octavian with two legions answering to him. The real Caesar had achieved much with fewer men.
He looked back down the marching ranks, taking solace from the sight of thirty thousand soldiers. If they kept discipline, he knew he could force Octavian to surrender. Let the Senate worry about what to do with him after that, he thought. While men like Bibilus debated his fate, there would be no one watching Mark Antony. He could still take the legions north.
The walls of Rome were not as high as many of the buildings they contained. Even at night, looking inward, the dark masses of tenement blocks rose above the three men standing on the stone walkway above a gate. The poorest families lived as high as six or even seven storeys up, without running water and in the unhappy knowledge that they could not possibly escape a fire. To Octavian, the gleam of oil lamps at their open windows seemed like low stars in the distance, too high to be part of the city at his feet.
Agrippa and Maecenas leaned against the inner part of the wall. The city itself had not been threatened since the slave army of Spartacus, but the defences were still maintained, with an entire network of support buildings and access steps. In more normal times, it would be one of the duties of city guards to walk the walls, more often to remove gangs of children or pairs of young lovers than because of any threat to the city. Yet such mundane tasks had been ignored since the legions occupied the forum and the entire city waited in fear for the tension to break. The three friends were alone, with the empty walkway stretching in both directions. Even so, they kept their voices low, constantly aware that the Senate would love to overhear what they planned.
‘You don’t need to worry about Silva and Paulinius,’ Agrippa said. ‘They won’t change their loyalties again, no matter what the senators promise or threaten. It would cost them too much – the gods alone know what sort of punishment the Senate would impose. Execution of the senior ranks at the very least. Their lives are bound up with ours, as things stand.’
Octavian looked at him, nodding. The moon was approaching full and the stars were bright enough to wash the city in pale light. He felt exposed on the wall, but he had to admit it was more private than anywhere else. Idly, he kicked a small stone off the sandy surface, watching it vanish into the darkness below.
‘I’m not worried about their loyalty. What worries me is what we are going to do when the consul comes back from Brundisium with six legions.’
Agrippa looked away, reluctant to say what he had been thinking during the days of negotiation with the Senate. There had been a sense of progress before that afternoon, when the messenger to Mark Antony made it back to Rome. In just an hour, the Senate had regained some of their wavering confidence and the news of returning legions had spread across an already fearful city. Agrippa kicked irritably at a loose stone. The meeting on the wall was not to discuss how to turn the negotiations into a triumph, but how to prevent destruction and dishonour.
Maecenas cleared his throat, leaning back against the wall as he regarded both men.
‘So, gentlemen, we are in a difficult spot. Tell me if I have it wrong, won’t you? If we do nothing, we have the Senate’s legions just a few days’ march away. We don’t have enough men to hold the walls, not for long. If we