The Blood of Gods A Novel of Rome - By Conn Iggulden Page 0,90
flesh cutting off his air. Bitter vomit rose, spilling from his open mouth and broken nose as he clawed at his face. He grunted and waved his hands as he strangled, but the soldiers were all outside, listening to their officers cheer Caesar. By the time they returned to tend him, he was dead, his eyes bulging.
The Senate watched each change of expression in the young man before them. He had answered every question and they had been impressed. His lineage was beyond reproach. Only his youth held them back from outright endorsement. Yet he did not look abashed and when he spoke, it was with the fluency of an honest and an older man.
Bibilus couldn’t take his eyes off Sextus Pompey. It was as if a Greek athlete stood there for their judgement, slim of shoulder and hip, with the sort of fine musculature that only came from an active life. Bibilus wiped his brow with a square of cloth, moving it down to take the wet shine off his lips. At the end of three hours in the theatre, they were all weary, but the subject of the emergency meeting still looked fresh. More than anything, Pompey’s unruffled calm helped to persuade the older members. In years alone, he was far too young for such a serious appointment, but the life he had led gave him a maturity and seriousness of which they could approve.
Suetonius was the last one still prepared to question the youth. When he rose from his bench, Pompey’s steady gaze fastened on him, so that he hesitated and forgot what he was about to ask.
‘You, um … you have described the death of your father in Egypt,’ Suetonius began, aware as he spoke of the sighs and grunts of irritation all around him. The rest of the senators wanted to move to a vote and then go home. Suetonius tensed his mouth and ran a hand over the hair he had plastered so carefully across the dome of his head.
‘You have also provided details of your brother, murdered by forces of Caesar in Spain. You say your sister yet survives … Lavinia. Yet, um … most of your experience has been on land, yet you are asking for command of the fleet? Tell this house why we should grant such authority to a young fellow of your age.’
Sextus Pompey looked up and around before he answered. The gesture was not lost on many of the men there and they chuckled as he smiled.
‘My father built this theatre, Senator, though I have never seen it before today. I am glad it is being used for more than even he intended. I am also glad his name is not forgotten, despite the best efforts of the Caesarian faction that has proved such a poison in the politics of this city. Is the line of Caesar not a dagger at your throats once again? The markets in the city are full of such chatter, with talk of him occupying even the forum.’
He paused with the natural gift of an orator, letting his audience soak in each point while he planned the next.
‘In me, you have more than a father’s son, though I do not fear to rest my honour on that of Gnaeus Pompey. I have fought against the armies of Caesar in Spain for almost as long as I can remember. Before that, I saw my father stabbed to death by foreign slaves in Alexandria, just to please Caesar. In my opposition to Octavian, you need never fear for my loyalty. I am perhaps the only man in Rome whose enmity is as set as the path of the stars.’
He paused again, knowing Suetonius would prompt him on the subject of the fleet. As the senator opened his mouth, Sextus Pompey went on.
‘I have fought on board ships, Senator. As I said, I have three galleys of my own, each one captured from Caesar’s forces and used to attack more. While he led Rome, I could be nothing more than a pirate with my name and my blood, but you have changed that. This new Caesar who undermines the authority of the Senate, who dares to flout the rule of Rome, will always be my enemy. But if the rumours are true …’ he smiled wryly, certain that he had not misjudged the panicky news flying through the city over the previous few days, ‘then he has an army too great to oppose in Roman lands,