The Blood of Gods A Novel of Rome - By Conn Iggulden Page 0,94

Trebonius.

‘I have ordered horses brought for you,’ he said, ‘and arranged a ship. You will find it at the docks in Ostia. Go with my blessing.’

His tone was grim with dissatisfaction, but he could feel the tide turning as well as anyone. Octavian had won the highest post of the city and the Caesarians were rising with him. Clients in the Senate would no longer withhold their votes. Bibilus thanked his personal gods that the fleet was not in their grasp. There was at least that, slim straw though it was to ease his disgust.

Suetonius looked over the city and around at the Janiculum hill. He remembered a different election and another Caesar, but he had been younger then and more able to withstand the reverses of capricious fate. He shook his head, wiping a hand over the thinning hair that the breeze picked up and flicked over to reveal his baldness.

‘I will go to Cassius,’ he announced. ‘This is just a single day, Bibilus. Sextus Pompey has the fleet in the west. Cassius and Brutus hold the east. Rome will starve without grain by sea and this city will suffer, held on both sides until it is strangled. This vote, this obscenity today, is one small failure, nothing more. I will see this place again, I swear it.’

He turned to Gaius Trebonius, the one who had distracted Mark Antony during the assassination of Caesar. The younger man had been so proud to be named as one of the Liberatores, even though he had not wielded a blade. Now, the legacy of that decision haunted him and he looked ill.

‘This is not right,’ Trebonius said, his voice shaking. He had never left Rome before and the thought of foreign cities filled him with unease. ‘He had Decimus Junius hanged without a proper trial! How does he remain immune while we must run? We removed a tyrant, an enemy of the state. Why do they not see that?’

‘Because they are blinded by gold and names and foolish dreams,’ Suetonius snapped. ‘Believe me, I have seen more of it than I could ever tell you. Good men work in silence and what of their dignity, their honour? It is ignored for those who shout and prance and pander to the unwashed crowds.’

He reached out to grip Trebonius by the shoulder, but the younger man pulled away by instinct, his face flushing. For an instant, Suetonius clawed the empty air, then let his hand fall.

‘I have lived with Caesars. I have even killed one,’ he said. ‘But men like Cassius will not let this rest, believe me. There will be a price in blood and I will be there to see it paid.’

For the first time in many years, the new consuls would not enter the city proper. The senate house was still nothing more than a scorched foundation and Octavian and Pedius walked instead to the open doors of Pompey’s theatre. The crowd followed them right to the point where they passed behind a line of soldiers, there to guard the dignity of the Senate.

Octavian paused at the enormous pillars of white marble, looking at the flecks of bull’s blood on his hands as the senators streamed in around him. Many congratulated them both as they passed and he acknowledged them, knowing that he should begin the subtle web of alliances that he needed to pass even a simple vote. Yet the omens had given him a momentum that the senators would not resist.

Pedius stayed at his side, his mouth working constantly as if he tried to consume himself from within. He alone seemed to take no joy in the omens or the appointment, though it would place his name in the history of the city. Octavian stifled a grin at the older man’s nervousness. He had not chosen Pedius for ideals or a fiery intelligence, far from it. Pedius had been the best choice simply because he was not strong. Octavian had learned from his mistakes, particularly from the disaster of entering the forum with armed legionaries earlier that year. He knew by then that he could not ignore the importance of how he was seen. The people and the Senate would resist a crude grab for power in any form. Even as consul, he would tread warily. Pedius was his shield.

‘Consul,’ Octavian said to him. The older man started at the title, a tentative smile playing around his chewing mouth. ‘I am happy to propose the Lex Curiata myself. It