The Blood of Gods A Novel of Rome - By Conn Iggulden Page 0,96

still.’

Octavian’s smile slipped at the reminder of the massive fleet that had vanished from Brundisium. His co-consul Pedius had pushed through a vote to remove the authority of Sextus Pompey, but that did not bring the ships back.

‘When I am finished here,’ Octavian said, ‘I will need my own fleet.’

‘You’re in your fleet at the moment,’ Maecenas replied blithely.

Octavian snorted. ‘I have been thinking about that. Sooner or later, I must take Sextus Pompey on. Without control of the seas, we will never be able to take legions against Cassius and Brutus.’

Agrippa rubbed his chin, nodding.

‘It will cost fortunes,’ he replied. ‘Sextus has, what, two hundred galleys? To build even half that number would cost tens of millions of sesterces – and the time to retrain legionaries.’

‘What good is a deal with Mark Antony if I can’t leave Rome for fear of pirates?’ Octavian said. ‘I will find the money – and the men. You have a free hand, Agrippa. Build me a fleet.’

When they reached the island, the three passengers climbed out. Without a word, the rowers began to pull on legionary armour that could have drowned them before. Octavian waited impatiently, his fingers rubbing the hilt of his gladius.

Mark Antony himself strolled down to the sandy landing place, watching their preparations with something like amusement. He looked healthy and strong, standing almost as tall as Agrippa and with the trim frame of a soldier despite his years.

‘Welcome, Consul,’ he said. ‘You’ve come a long way since I held the title you bear now. As I wrote to you, my honour guarantees your safety here. We meet under truce. I would like to introduce you to my companions, so will you walk with me?’

The man Octavian had last seen riding hard for Gaul seemed to have no fear of the armed soldiers with Octavian. He looked as relaxed as any noble Roman enjoying an afternoon on the river. Octavian smiled at his manner, playing along.

‘I’ll walk with you,’ he said. ‘We have a great deal to discuss.’

‘Now that he’s decided to listen,’ Maecenas muttered.

The group of six accompanied Mark Antony to where a tent and tables had been laid out on the grass. From that side of the island, Octavian could see the Gaul legions on the opposing bank much more clearly. It was almost certainly no accident that the river was narrower on that side. A dozen scorpion bows and two centuries of archers watched him in turn, ready for the first hint of treachery. Strangely, it pleased Octavian that he too was considered a threat. He did not want to be the only one tying himself into knots with worry.

Mark Antony was in an ebullient mood as host. He saw Octavian looking at the standing legionaries.

‘These are difficult days, Caesar, are they not? Lepidus here thought so, when I arrived in Gaul. I give thanks that he saw no conflict in handing over command to a consul of Rome.’

‘An ex-consul of Rome,’ Octavian said automatically. He saw Mark Antony begin to frown and went on quickly. ‘But still a man Julius Caesar called a friend and, I hope, an ally in these times.’

‘As you say. I find the more legions I have, the easier it is to find allies,’ Mark Antony replied with a booming laugh. ‘Lepidus? Let me introduce the new Caesar and the latest consul.’

The man he brought forward with a hand to his shoulder looked awestruck and out of place in that gathering. Octavian did not know Lepidus personally, only that he had been prefect of Gaul and appointed by Caesar after the Imperator’s return from the east. Lepidus was not an impressive figure at first glance. He had a slight stoop that made him look like a scholar rather than a senior officer, though his nose had been broken many times and one of his ears had been battered badly in some old conflict. It was little more than a flap of gristle, pink and without the usual curves. His hair was full but completely white. Against them, Octavian felt his youth as a strength rather than a weakness.

‘I am honoured to meet you, Caesar,’ Lepidus said. His voice was low and firm and gave some sense of the man behind the ageing exterior.

Octavian took his outstretched arm and gripped it.

‘As I am honoured to meet you both, gentlemen. As consul of Rome, I suppose I have the most senior rank. Shall we sit?’

He gestured to the long table, deliberately moving towards it