The Blood of Gods A Novel of Rome - By Conn Iggulden Page 0,79

had hoped and he struggled to find something else to smooth over the moment of ill-feeling.

‘If I have learned anything, Caesar, it is that nothing is certain in politics. Enemies become friends and vice versa, over time. Those who sit around this table are proof enough of that. However, it is also true that men rise and fall. Who knows where we shall find ourselves in a few years? It may be that when enough time has passed, once powerful men will find their stars have set and others are on the rise.’

He snapped his mouth shut then, rather than make promises he could not possibly keep. He had intended to raise a little hope in the young Roman. Hirtius had lived long enough to know that a brief and careless mention of promotion would keep some men working for years without reward. Yet words were just wind until they were written down and sealed. He was pleased to see Octavian’s expression ease and Hirtius raised a cup of the Falernian in a toast, the gesture quickly copied around the table.

‘To victory, gentlemen.’

‘To victory,’ Octavian repeated with the rest. He had learned a great deal over the previous months and no trace of his thoughts showed on his face. Yet it was strange to drink a toast with dead men.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Mark Antony shivered in a wind which came straight from the mountains looming over him. The cloak that had seemed so thick in the south felt threadbare, no matter how he wrapped and folded it. He could see his own breath and the ground itself was covered in a constant dusting of frost. Even his horse was shod with leather on each hoof to protect its feet.

From first light, he had set men to constructing catapults and scorpion bows, assembling the massive weapons of wood and iron from the train of carts he had brought with him. The cold made injuries unavoidable and he already had two men with crushed fingers being tended by healers.

His sons, Antyllus and Paulus, were in the thick of it, of course, tolerated by the legionaries as they ran and carried tools and nails, hardly feeling the cold at all. Mark Antony had been tempted to have Fulvia and Claudia round them up before they got themselves hurt, but the instinct had been forgotten in the face of a thousand other tasks. They had made good time on the coastal road north, arriving a week after him and with his wife exhausted and irritable. It would suit her to have them run free for a day.

Decimus Junius had not been idle, despite the shock he must have felt at seeing four legions marching into the fields around his fortresses. Mark Antony had surrounded and disarmed two thousand legionaries three days before, forcing the remainder of Junius’ forces to abandon them and run. The captured men were under guard at the permanent camp of Taurinorum, huddled in misery, though warmer than he was.

Mark Antony was not yet certain where Decimus Junius had placed himself in the chain of forts, but some guiding hand had withdrawn most of the remaining soldiers into the largest one, a massive wooden structure that squatted over the entrance to the pass. There were two other strongholds further away, but they could be broken or starved at leisure. Beyond the pass and the main fort lay Gaul, with all its wealth and vast green land. It seemed almost a dream while icy air bit at his exposed skin, but Mark Antony wanted at least one route to Gaul open and unopposed.

He did not intend to cross the mountains, not that year. Decimus Junius had been given a rich plum here in the north for his part in the assassination. Away from the peculiar climate of the mountains, it was rich land, producing vast quantities of grain and meat for Roman cities. If Mark Antony could secure it for himself, he would have both wealth and power over the Senate, no matter how they raged at him. In just a few years, when his sons had grown, he would have restored his position. He let the thought cheer him as the wind increased and his face went completely numb. One of his Brundisium legates was standing by for orders, the man’s nose and cheeks pink with cold.

‘Send a demand for surrender to the fort,’ Mark Antony said. ‘At least we might confirm if Decimus Junius is inside. If they don’t respond, wait for