The Blood of Gods A Novel of Rome - By Conn Iggulden Page 0,65
bitter decision, weighed down by impossible choices. ‘Get the legions ready to march. We have a few days still. Perhaps I can wring something from those theatre fools by then.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
On the Via Appia, entire villages had sprung up to service and care for travellers. All along its length, it was possible to purchase anything from glass, jewellery and woven cloth, to hot food and even horses.
The Brundisium legions marched past all the usual stopping places, pushed to their best possible pace by the strange urgency that had obsessed Mark Antony. On a good road, they could manage thirty miles if the need was great, though he began to lose men to sprains and exhaustion. For once, those with obviously bloody feet or swollen knees and ankles were not punished further. One or two lucky members of their century remained to watch over groups of ten or a dozen at whichever roadhouse was closest. With Rome almost in sight, they would catch up quickly, or lose skin off their backs.
Mark Antony gave the order to halt the column only when he was certain they were in range of the city for the following day. On grain-fed mounts, he and the legates were relatively fresh compared to the marching men, but still he ached.
With the sun setting, he dismounted in the courtyard of an inn that looked as if it had been there from the time the first stones were laid for the road. Servants, or perhaps the children of the owner, ran to take his horse and accepted the coins he tossed to them. He went inside, ducking his head under a low lintel and seeking out the table where the legates would be eating.
They stood watchfully as he approached. With Rome in range, he knew he had to tell them why he had been pushing so hard. It would leave only the morning for the men to hear and digest the news. With just a little luck, they’d be in the forum before they had a chance to consider rebelling against their new orders.
‘Where is Liburnius?’ Mark Antony asked. ‘I’d have thought he’d be the first one here.’
No one answered, though they looked at each other or at the serving girl bringing jugs of fish sauce to the table.
‘Well?’ Mark Antony demanded. He pulled out a chair for himself.
‘The Fourth Ferrata has not halted, sir,’ Legate Buccio said. ‘I … we assumed it was on your orders.’
Mark Antony’s hand dropped from the back of the chair.
‘What do you mean “has not halted”? I gave no such order. Send a rider out and get him back.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Buccio replied.
He left to pass on the errand to some unlucky soldier and Mark Antony settled, allowing the others to sit down. He poured pungent fish sauce onto his plate, smelling it with satisfaction before reaching for bread to dip into it. As he took his first mouthful, he became aware that the remaining men were still stiff and uncomfortable in his presence. He smothered a sigh.
Buccio returned, his glance flickering around the other men of his rank. Mark Antony looked up as the legate took his seat and poured his own sauce. The man was an ancient compared to some, with deep wrinkles like the lines of a map in his neck and shaven head. His brown eyes were unaccountably worried as they met those of the consul.
‘I’ve sent the runner, sir.’
‘I believe you were going to discuss the … difficulties we’ve been having, Buccio,’ one of the other legates said, toying with his food and not looking up.
Buccio glared at the speaker, but Mark Antony was looking at him by then and he nodded, making the best of it.
‘I have had some … comments, Consul. I have trusted men in my legion, men who know I will not hold them responsible if they pass on the gossip of the barracks.’
Mark Antony’s mouth firmed.
‘The men have given their oaths, Legate. To spy on them after that undermines their honour and yours. You will cease the practice immediately.’
Buccio nodded hurriedly.
‘Very well, sir. But what I have learned is serious enough for me to bring it to you, no matter the source.’
Mark Antony stared at him, chewing slowly.
‘Go on,’ he said. ‘I will be the judge of that.’
‘They have heard about the new Caesar, Consul. Not just my men, by any means. Legate Liburnius was saying the same thing to me only yesterday. Can you confirm it, sir?’