The Blood of Gods A Novel of Rome - By Conn Iggulden Page 0,93

what he had gone through to stand in that place. The new consuls would take the omens and almost a hundred priests and officials and scribes had gathered there to record the event. More soldiers created a clear space for the ritual and the omen-takers prepared the bellowing animal.

Quintina Fabia was dressed in blinding white, her face painted so well that it was almost a mask of youth. She bowed to Octavian and Pedius as they approached, holding out an iron sickle with a keen edge. Octavian took it and tested the implement on the hairs of his forearm as he looked over at the massive bulk of the bull.

‘I do not doubt Julius can see you now,’ the high priestess said warmly. ‘He would be proud of his son.’

Octavian dipped his head to show his appreciation. The guards drew ropes on the bull, heaving it over to the edge of the enclosure. It had been drugged with a mixture of opium and other herbs in its feed, so that it was dazed and sluggish. The omens would not be good if they had to chase a wounded animal across the Campus. Octavian fought not to smile at the image in his mind. He knew it was just giddiness, after the election, but he was required to be solemn and dignified until it was done.

The chanting began as the omen-takers and soothsayers implored the gods to send a sign and give their blessing to the consular year to come. Octavian stood mute and Quintina finally had to jog his shoulder to tell him it was time.

He approached the tethered bull, close enough to see its lashes and smell the clean scent of its skin. He placed a hand on the top of its head and saw the animal was chewing idly, unaware of what was going to happen. The image reminded him of Pedius and again he had to struggle not to laugh.

With a jerk, he reached under the powerful neck and drew the blade across in one swift slash. Blood spattered like rain onto bronze dishes held below. The animal grunted and did not seem to feel pain at first. The bowls filled and were replaced, passed to the omen-takers, who stared into the red liquid for patterns into the future.

The bull began to moan and struggle, but its lifeblood still poured. It collapsed slowly onto its knees and the dark brown eyes grew wild. It moaned louder and the ropes grew tight as it tried to struggle up. Octavian watched, waiting for it to die and thinking of Decimus Junius. He was woken from his reverie by a shout from one of the haruspices, pointing at the sky with a shaking hand. Octavian looked up with the rest of the crowd and was in time to see a flight of dark birds cross the city in the distance. He smiled, delighted at the sight of vultures in the air. The history of the city said that there had been twelve as Romulus founded Rome. With thousands of citizens, he counted the dark birds in his head, struggling to be certain as they overlapped and dwindled.

‘I saw twelve,’ Quintina Fabia said loudly and clearly.

Octavian blinked. The birds were passing into the setting sun and he could not be sure. The number was echoed around him and he laughed at last.

‘It is a good omen,’ he said. He had Caesar’s luck, for all he was sure there had been only nine birds. They had gone into the sun, but it was enough. The sighting of twelve would send a message of rebirth to the people of Rome.

When the bull’s liver was cut out, the end of it was folded over and Quintina Fabia beamed. She held up the bloody organ, spattering her white robe with red life that ran down her arms. The omen-takers cheered and the scribes wrote down every detail on wax tablets, to be entered into the city records later that evening. The omens were superb and Octavian could only shake his head in pleasure and send a silent prayer of thanks to his mentor and namesake.

The bulk of the crowd had followed the new consuls to watch the sacrifice. As the omens were read and proclaimed across the Campus, Bibilus and his coterie of supporters remained by the voting baskets. Bibilus swept his hand through the polished wooden tokens, letting them fall back one by one. With a sour expression, he looked at Suetonius and Gaius