The Blood of Gods A Novel of Rome - By Conn Iggulden Page 0,68
died in Egypt years before, his name was preserved in the sheer grandeur of the building that dominated the once pristine grass of the Campus. Not even Caesar could have paid for solid marble, but the walls were sheathed in the milky stone, lightly veined and glittering slightly in the sunshine. Limestone paving had been laid all around the main building, ending at the great pillars that held up the portico, itself carved in white marble.
The Senate had come out to Octavian as he approached. They were dressed in white and purple-trimmed togas to a man and they made an impressive sight, standing in a group and waiting for him. They had rejected all his demands and their confidence had grown.
Octavian had chosen to wear armour, knowing he would be seen in contrast to the civil powers. He rode down the Capitoline hill with three centuries of men, one of them composed entirely of centurions. Together, they represented his claim to authority in the city and if the senators were in clean colours, at least his men shone.
As the sound of his mount’s hooves changed to a clatter on stone, Octavian swept his gaze across the crowd of senators. He could see Bibilus, with Suetonius at his side as always. They had both known Caesar, Suetonius in particular. The passing years had been kind to neither of them, almost as if their cruelty was written in sagging flesh. Octavian could not help compare himself with those old men and he straightened his back at the thought. He brought his centuries right up to them, not needing to give new orders. They spread out in perfect ranks against the hundreds in togas, standing still so that there was no sound at all beyond the calls of birds floating high above their heads. Not one of the senators would speak first, he was certain. Octavian and Maecenas had discussed the protocol and he smiled at them all.
‘I have summoned you here to announce that I will pay the legacies of Caesar myself, beginning with the three hundred sesterces to each citizen of Rome.’ He was pleased at the angry mutter that went through them at his choice of words. ‘I assume you will waive the right to your part of it. Are senators not citizens? Yet if you wish, I will have your share sent to your homes in the city.’
He hoped they would register the subtle threat before he went on with his main demand. He knew where they lived. The implications would surely not be lost on most of them.
Bibilus stepped forward through the crowd facing Octavian. The man’s bulk was well-disguised in the folds of his toga. He stood with his right hand gathering up the folds of cloth, his fleshy features already bright with perspiration.
‘Once more, then. We will not bargain or negotiate while legions camp in the sacred forum, Octavian. If you have nothing new to add, I suggest you return to the city and wait for justice to descend on you.’
Octavian controlled a spasm of anger. To have such a man speak to him of justice was calculated to enrage, so he showed them nothing.
‘You have refused every demand, senators,’ he said, making his voice ring across them all, ‘certain that I would not draw swords on the representatives of the city of my birth. What I asked was just, but you continued to protect murderers. That is at an end. I see Senator Suetonius there among you. I will take him today, for trial in the forum. Step aside and let him walk out to me. I have shown my respect for the law by my patience, though I have legions at my back. You need not fear that he will receive anything but justice at my hand. But he will receive justice at my hand.’
As he had ordered the night before, ten of his most senior centurions stepped forward from the ranks, moving towards Suetonius before the senators had time to react. At the first steps, Bibilus shouted out.
‘We are immune! You may not lay hands on a member of this august Senate. The gods themselves will curse whichever of you defies their will.’
With those few words, a ripple of anger spread through the gathered senators and they stepped out, holding up their hands against the armoured soldiers. With sheer numbers, they blocked a path to Suetonius as he cowered at the centre of four hundred men.