The Blood of Gods A Novel of Rome - By Conn Iggulden Page 0,88

vast host of men. The cold had deepened overnight, though the sky was clear and once again the wind whipped particles of frost against the exposed skin of the men as they waited for the judgement.

Decimus Junius had chosen to defend himself and he spoke for almost an hour while the legions waited and watched. In the end, he ground to a halt and Octavian stood up.

‘I have listened to your words, Decimus Junius. I find your arguments empty. There was no amnesty when you were one of Caesar’s murderers. That it was applied later is irrelevant. The Senate cannot order the sun to set after it has risen. In giving you some sense that you were absolved of your crime, they stepped beyond the bounds of their authority. As Caesar, I revoke that amnesty in the field and will do so formally when I am next in Rome. You are the first of the Liberatores to receive justice for your crimes. You will be one of many when you meet again across the river.’

Decimus Junius only stared at him, his eyes resigned. He had not doubted the result of the trial for a moment and he raised his head, refusing to show fear.

‘I pronounce you guilty of murder and blasphemy against the divine Julius,’ Octavian said. ‘The sentence is death. Hang him.’

Octavian watched without expression as two legionaries took hold of Decimus Junius, leading him over to the tree. They threw a rope over a branch and tied a loop around his neck while he stood, his chest heaving. Decimus Junius swore at them then, cursing them by all the gods. Octavian nodded to the legionaries, who joined together to pull the rope.

Decimus Junius’ voice was strangled into silence at the first jerk. One of his hands raised to touch the rope, the fingers scrabbling at the rough line tightening around his throat. As the soldiers continued to heave, he was raised to the tips of his toes and then, with a lurch, he left the ground. His legs kicked out and both hands were at his throat. On instinct, he gripped the rope above his head and pulled himself up. The soldiers exchanged a brief communication and one of them braced himself to take the weight, while the other approached the kicking figure and knocked his arms away.

Decimus Junius jerked and sagged in spasms, his bladder emptying as he choked. It was not a quick death, but the legionaries waited patiently, only having to remove his hands once more before he was still, turning gently in the breeze. When it was over, they heaved on the legs until the neck snapped, then lowered the body down and took back the rope. One of the legionaries used his sword to hack the head from the corpse. It took three blows before it came free and the soldier held it up to the crowd as a prize. They cheered the sight of it, fascinated by the white upturned eyes as it was turned to show all those who crowded close.

Octavian let out a long breath, shuddering in release. He hoped the news would spread to the ears of more powerful men, such as Brutus and Cassius, or the ones who still scrambled in Rome as Suetonius did. They would hear, eventually, and they would consider what it meant for them. He had only begun to collect the debt they owed.

‘Legates, attend me,’ he ordered.

The eight men came to him, hushed and calm after what they had witnessed. They saw Octavian in spotless armour, his face unlined and youthful energy in every part of him.

‘The men have seen my purpose, my intentions,’ he said to them. ‘I would have their voices behind me before I move on. I recall that Caesar would sometimes summon a soldiers’ assembly when he was in the field, to take the feeling of the men. I will do that here, to know I have their support.’

His gaze fell on the legates who had come north with Hirtius and Pansa and they did not misunderstand. He had demonstrated his authority and they knew better than to refuse.

‘Summon all officers, down to tesserarius. I will speak to them and ask what they would have me do.’

The legates saluted without hesitation, walking back to their horses in disciplined silence. As the sun rose, the main body of the legions pulled back from the command tent, while two thousand officers walked in to hear Octavian speak. He waited for them,