The Blood of Gods A Novel of Rome - By Conn Iggulden Page 0,70

rubbed his horse’s ears as he reflected on the previous months. He had been a leading voice when they decided to ignore the original Senate summons. It was difficult to express the sense of chaos that had ripped through the legions at Brundisium. Many of them had fought at Caesar’s side in Greece and Egypt and Gaul, and there were few who could not remember seeing the Father of Rome or hearing him speak over the years. Some even recalled words he had said to them individually with great pride. They were bound by oaths that were as much a part of them as their armour and traditions, but an unspoken loyalty ran even deeper. They were Caesar’s men. To be called to the command of the senators who had murdered him had not been an order they could obey.

Liburnius bit the inside of his lip as he looked at the city ahead, surprised at the strength of his pleasure in simply coming home. He had not seen Rome for years and yet somehow he found himself returning at the head of a freshly mutinous legion, no doubt with an enraged consul coming up fast behind. After his promotion to legate, it was not exactly how he had seen his career going and he smiled wryly at the thought. Yet when he looked for doubts, there were none. His men did not know about the favour he carried in his packs, or even the fact that he had met the new Caesar. They knew only the name and the adoption, the mark of family that linked Octavian to the very man who had formed them. It was enough.

When Liburnius had told them his decision to head north and join Caesar’s rebellion, they had been too cautious to cheer, but their delight had been obvious. He shook his head, amused at himself. In all his years as tribune, he had not known one hundredth part of the popularity he had gained then. It was frankly surprising how much he appreciated it, a man who had always assumed he was above seeking the adoration of those under his command. Liburnius knew he was no lion of Rome, like Marius, Sulla or Caesar himself. He had been content with his rank and that the men obeyed out of simple discipline. The murder of Caesar had rocked his foundations as much as any of them, altering the way he saw the world.

He breathed in relief as he saw the first of his messengers come galloping back to his position. Mark Antony could not be too far behind. The last thing Liburnius wanted was to be caught against the walls of the city before he could even join Octavian. His men were footsore and weary, but they had pushed on all night, making the best pace possible and not daring to leave any man behind. Whether the decision to mutiny was right or wrong, there was no going back from that point and they all knew it.

The extraordinarii rider was flushed and sweating. His horse skidded on damp stones as he pulled up, making the animal’s haunches bunch with a heave on the reins.

‘Caesar’s legions have left the city, sir, heading north.’

‘Shit!’ Liburnius said in disbelief. ‘How long ago? What forces remain in the city?’ He fired more questions at the hapless rider, who could only hold his hands up.

‘I don’t know, sir. I asked a temple priest. As soon as I heard the news, I swung round and came back.’

Liburnius felt his mood crumble into bitterness. He would not be entering Rome that day, not alone. The consul and five other legions would be hammering up the road at him while he sat there.

‘Well, which road did they take?’ he snapped.

The young rider only shook his head, but he turned the mount on the spot.

‘I’ll find out, sir.’

He galloped back the way he came and Liburnius could see worry and fear on the faces of all those who had heard, the news spreading fast through the ranks of waiting men.

‘Why would Caesar have waited for us?’ he asked them. ‘He didn’t know we were coming to join him. Centurions! Take the Fourth Ferrata around the city walls to the Campus Martius. We have a chase on our hands.’

To his satisfaction, the closest men grinned, setting off in matched step despite their exhaustion.

Mark Antony drew up angrily, his personal guard holding a tight formation around him. He could smell his own sweat and his face