The Field of Swords Page 37

  “A merchant prince,” Julius murmured.

  Crassus grinned at him. “Even he needs a good legion on occasion.”

  Julius turned in his seat to look at Pompey. “So Crassus has Parthia to subdue for Rome. I give him his son to lead them. What could Pompey need from me? I have heard that Clodius and Milo create riots in the streets. Do you want my support? You would have it, Pompey. If you need me to vote for you as Dictator, I would return with my Tenth to deal with whatever may follow. On my word, I would. I still have friends there and I could carry it for you.”

  Pompey smiled tightly at the younger man. “I have missed your energy around the city, Julius. I really have. No, I have put shackles on Clodius, and Milo is a spent force. Your reports are out of date. My needs are simpler.”

  He glanced again at Crassus, and Julius wondered at the friendship that had sprung up between them. It was strange how much men changed over the years. Julius would never have believed they could be anything but reluctant allies at best, but they seemed as comfortable with each other as brothers. He wondered if Pompey had ever learned the truth of Crassus’s involvement with Catiline. There were always secrets in Rome.

  “I need gold, Julius,” Pompey said. “Crassus tells me you have found great wealth in Gaul, much more than the city ever sees in taxes.”

  Julius glanced at Crassus with interest, wondering how good his sources were in their estimates. Pompey continued, the words spilling out now that he had begun.

  “My private income is not enough to rebuild the city, Julius. Parts have been damaged in rioting and the Senate does not have the funds. If you have, it would be used to finish the temples and houses we have begun.”

  “Surely Crassus could advance you the money?” Julius asked.

  Pompey flushed slightly. “I told you, Crassus,” he snapped to his colleague. “I will not come like a beggar—”

  Crassus interrupted, laying a hand on Pompey’s arm to soothe him.

  “It is not a loan, Julius, but a gift that Pompey is asking.” He smiled wryly. “I have never understood how money can be so uncomfortable a subject in so many quarters. It is simple enough. The Senate treasury is not fat enough to supply the millions needed to rebuild parts of the city. Another aqueduct, temples, new streets. It all costs. Pompey does not wish to create new debts, even to me.”

  Julius thought ruefully of the ships that waited on his payment. He suspected Pompey did not know the full content of the letter Crassus had sent him, but at least he had come prepared. Sometimes Crassus’s bluntness was a blessing.

  “I have it,” he said. “Though in return, I want the Tenth and Third added to the Senate payroll. I cannot continue to fund their salaries out of my own purse.”

  Pompey nodded. “That is . . . acceptable,” he said.

  Julius took another piece of cold meat from the table and ate it as he thought.

  “I would need my orders confirmed in writing, of course. Another five years in Gaul, bound as solidly as you can make it. I do not want to have to renegotiate the terms next year. Crassus, your son is ready for command. I am sorry to lose such a fine officer, but that was our agreement and I will hold to it. I wish you luck with your new province. Believe me when I say it is no easy task to cut new paths for Rome.”

  Pompey said nothing, so with a smile Crassus spoke for him.

  “And the gold, Julius?”

  “Wait here,” Julius replied, standing.

  He returned with Publius and Brutus, the three men struggling with a long cedar chest that had been bound with strips of iron. Both Pompey and Crassus stood as they entered the room, and Crassus went to embrace his son. Julius opened the box and revealed enough fat yellow coins to impress even Crassus, so that he stepped away from his son and ran a hand over the gold.

  “I have three more of these with me, gentlemen. More than three million sesterces by weight. Is it enough?”

  Pompey too could not seem to look away from the precious metal. “It is,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

  “Then we have an agreement?” Julius said, looking from one to the other. Both senators nodded.

  “Excellent. I will need rooms for my men tonight, here or in a tavern, if you can recommend a few places. They’ve earned the right to some hot food and a bath. I will return here at dawn to go through the details with you both.”

  “There is something else that might interest you, Caesar,” Crassus said, his eyes twinkling. He glanced at Brutus as he spoke, then shrugged.

  “A friend traveled up from Rome with us. I will show you the way.”

  Julius raised an eyebrow, but Pompey too seemed to share some inner amusement as their eyes met.

  “Lead on, then,” Julius said, following Crassus out into the colder corridors of the house.

  Pompey was uncomfortable with the men Julius had brought into the room. Publius felt it and cleared his throat.

  “I should bring in the rest of the gold, Consul, with your permission.”

  “Thank you,” Pompey replied. He pulled a cloak from a peg on the door and went out with them into the night.

  Crassus took a lamp from a wall bracket and led Julius down a long hall to the rear of the property.

  “Who owns this house?” Julius asked, looking around at the richness of the furnishings.

  “I do,” Crassus said. “The owner fell into difficulties and I was able to acquire it at an excellent price.”

  Julius knew that the owner would have been one of those who suffered under the monopoly of trade that had been Crassus’s part of their original agreement. He was interested that the old man hadn’t tried to have his license extended, but the province Pompey had offered him would be enough to occupy his time. Julius hoped Crassus would have the sense to let his son make the decisions. Though he liked the old senator, the man was no sort of general, whereas his son could very well be a fine one.

  “In here, Julius,” Crassus said, handing him the lamp.

  Julius could see a childish delight on Crassus’s wrinkled features that baffled him. He opened the door, closing it on the darkness behind.

  Servilia had never looked more beautiful. Julius froze when he saw her, and then fumbled for a place to hang the lamp, the simple process suddenly seeming difficult.

  The room was warmed by a fire in a hearth big enough to stand in. No touch of the howling winter reached them, and Julius drank in the lines of her as she watched him without speaking. She lay on a long couch and wore a dress of dark red cloth, like blood against her skin. He did not know what to say and only gazed in silence for a long time.

  “Come here,” she said, holding out her hands to him. Silver bangles chimed on her wrist as she moved. He crossed the room and as he touched her hands, he folded into her embrace and they were kissing. There was no need for words.

  Pompey regretted leaving the warmth of the house for the winter street, but a nagging curiosity would not leave him. As the boxes of gold were heaved up and carried into the house, he walked along the line of silent soldiers, falling naturally into his role as an officer of Rome. They had stood to attention and saluted as soon as he appeared, and now his inspection was natural, almost expected.

  In truth, Pompey felt a responsibility for the Tenth. It had been his own order to merge Primigenia with a legion who had shamed themselves in battle, and he had felt a proprietary interest when reading Julius’s reports in the Senate. The Tenth had become Julius’s most trusted men, and it was no surprise to see them in the ranks Julius had chosen for the meeting.

  Pompey spoke to one or two of them and they responded to his questions nervously, staring straight ahead. One or two were shivering, but they clenched their jaws as he passed, unwilling to show any weakness.

  Pompey stopped in front of the centurion and congratulated him on the discipline of his men.

  “What is your name?” he asked, though he knew it.

  “Regulus, sir,” the man replied.

  “I have had the plea
sure of telling the Senate how well the Tenth have been doing in Gaul. Has it been difficult?”

  “No, sir,” Regulus replied.

  “I’ve heard it said that a legionary finds the waiting the hardest part of war,” Pompey said.

  “It is no hardship, sir,” Regulus said.

  “I am glad to hear that, Regulus. From what I have heard, you haven’t had a chance for your swords to grow rusty. No doubt there will be more battles ahead.”

  “We are always ready, sir,” Regulus said, and Pompey moved on, speaking to another soldier a few places down the line.

  Crassus came back into the warm room. His son was there waiting for him, and the old senator crossed to him, beaming.

  “I have been so proud of you, lad. Julius mentioned your name twice in reports to the Senate,” Crassus said. “You have done well in Gaul, as well as I could have wanted. Now are you ready to lead a legion for your father?”

  “I am, sir,” Publius replied.

  CHAPTER 34

  _____________________

  Julius woke long before dawn and lay in the warmth created by Servilia beside him. He had left her only once the night before to ask Crassus to bring his men in from the cold. While Crassus opened rooms and summoned food and blankets for the century, Julius had quietly closed the door once more and forgotten them.

  Now, in the darkness, Julius could hear the snores of soldiers packed along every space of the house. No doubt the kitchens would be preparing breakfast for them, and Julius knew he too should be rousing himself and planning the day. Yet there was a delicious lethargy in that warm dark, and he stretched, feeling her cool skin against his arm as he moved. She stirred and murmured something he could not catch, enough to make him sit up on one elbow and look at her face.

  Some women looked their best in the bright light of the sun, but Servilia was most beautiful in the evening or under the moon. Her face had nothing of the sharp hardness he had once seen. He could still picture her acid contempt when he had come striding into her home for their last meeting. It was a mystery to him how he could have engendered such apparent hatred and yet now have her in his bed, stirring like a dreaming cat. He might have held back after that first embrace in the firelight, but her eyes had been full of some strange grief and he had never been able to resist the tears of a beautiful woman. It stirred him as no smile or coquetry ever could.

  He yawned in silence, the strain making his jaw crack. If only life were as simple as he wanted it to be. If he could dress and leave with nothing more than a final glance at her sleeping form, he would have a perfect memory of the woman he had loved for so long. It would have been enough to banish some of the pain she had caused him. He watched her smile in her sleep and his own expression lightened in response. He wondered if he was in her dreams, and thought of some of the extraordinarily erotic sequences that had plagued his sleep for the first few months in Gaul. He leaned closer to her ear and breathed his name into it, over and over, grinning to himself. Perhaps she could be made to dream of him.

  He froze as she raised a hand to rub the ear without waking. The movement in the soft linen revealed her left breast, and Julius found the image endearing and arousing at the same time. Though age had left its marks on her, as she lay there her breast was pale and perfect. Julius watched with fascination as the exposed nipple firmed and darkened, and he considered waking her with the warmth of his mouth on it.

  He sighed, lying back. When she woke, the world would intrude on them once again. Though Crassus would keep any secret, Brutus would have to be told his own mother was there in the north. Julius frowned in the darkness as he considered his friend’s reaction to the news that Servilia once again shared his bed. Julius had seen Brutus’s relief at the end of that relationship, punctuated with twin slaps in Rome. To see it rekindled could weigh heavily on him. Julius clasped his hands behind his head as he thought.

  There could be no returning to Gaul until spring; he had always known that. Once the passes were blocked, nothing living could make the trip. At one point, Julius had considered traveling to Rome, but dismissed the idea. Unless he could be certain of making the journey without being recognized, he would be too much of a temptation for his enemies, with only a hundred men for protection. Rome was as unreachable as the passes over the Alps, and Julius struggled with a feeling of claustrophobia at the thought of spending months in the dreary streets of Ariminum.

  At least his letters would get through, he thought. And he could travel to the shipyards to oversee the fleet he had ordered. It seemed a vain hope to expect them to release the vessels without any more than his deposits, no matter what he promised. Yet without them, his plans for the sea crossing would be delayed, perhaps by as much as another year.

  He sighed to himself. There were always battles to be fought in Gaul. Even when a tribe had paid tribute for two summers, they could plant their flags in the hard ground and declare war on the third. Without outright extermination, Julius was forced to face the fact that such rebellions could continue for his full term there. They were a hard people to put down.

  His eyes were cold as he considered the tribes. They were nothing like the men and women he had known as a boy in Rome. They sang and laughed more easily, despite their short, hard lives. Julius still remembered his astonishment the first time he had sat with Mhorbaine listening to a storyteller weave an ancient tale for them. Perhaps something had been lost in Adàn’s translation, but Julius had seen tears in the eyes of veteran warriors and at the conclusion of the story Mhorbaine had wept like a child, without a sign of embarrassment.

  “What are you thinking?” Servilia said. “You look so cruel, sitting there.”

  Julius met her dark eyes and forced a smile onto his face. “I was thinking of the songs of the Gauls.”

  She pouted, pulling herself up on the cushion beside him. The fire was long dead and with a shiver she yanked the blankets to cover her shoulders, forming a nest of cloth from which she watched him.

  “I travel three hundred miles and throw myself into a night of lascivious pleasure with you and you are still thinking of some grubby tribesmen? You amaze me.”

  He chuckled and wrapped an arm around her, pulling the whole bundle close to his chest.

  “I don’t care why you came. I’m just glad you did,” he said.

  This seemed to please her and she tilted her head to be kissed. Julius half turned to respond and the scent of her perfume recalled all the passion and innocence of the past. It was almost too painful.

  “I missed you,” she said. “Very much. I wanted to see you again.”

  Julius looked at her, struggling with his emotions. Part of him wanted to be angry with her. She had caused him so much grief that he had hated her for a long time, or told himself he had. Yet he had not hesitated after that first moment the night before. All his internal arguments and scabs had drifted away, and again he felt as vulnerable as any other young fool.

  “Am I an evening’s entertainment to you, then?” he asked. “You seemed to have no doubts when I left your house in Rome.”

  “I did have doubts, even then. If I hadn’t sent you away, you would have grown tired of having an old woman in your bed. Don’t interrupt, Julius. If I don’t say it, I may not be able . . .”

  He waited while she stared off into the darkness. One of her hands tightened slowly in the heavy cloth that covered them both.

  “When you want a son, it cannot come from me, Julius, not anymore.”

  Julius hesitated before responding. “You’re sure?”

  She sighed, raising her eyes. “Yes, of course I’m sure. I was sure when you left Rome. Perhaps you are already thinking of children to carry on your line. You will turn to some young girl with wide hips to give you them, and I will be thrown aside.”

  “I have my daughter,” he reminded her.

  “A son, Julius! Do you not want to have sons of your own to follow you? How often have I heard you speak of your own father? You would never be sa
tisfied with a daughter who cannot set foot in the Senate building. A daughter who cannot lead your legions for you.”

  “That was why you left me?” he said, understanding. “I can find a wife from any family in Rome to carry my blood. Nothing between us would change.”

  Servilia shook her head in weariness. “It would, Julius. It must. You would look at me with guilt for every hour we spent together. I couldn’t bear to see it.”

  “Then why are you here?” he demanded, suddenly angry. “What has changed for you to come to me and set everything on its head once again?”

  “Nothing has changed. There are days when I do not think of you at all and others when you are constantly in my thoughts. When Crassus told me he was coming to this meeting, I joined him. Perhaps I should not have done. By your side, the future is miserable for me.”

  “I don’t understand you at all, you know,” Julius said softly, touching her face. “I do not care about sons, Servilia. If there is a time when I do, I will marry some daughter of a senator for that reason. If you are mine, I will love no other.”

  She closed her eyes, and in the first light of dawn, he could see tears spilling down her cheeks.

  “I should not have come,” she whispered. “I should have left you alone.”

  “I was alone,” he said, gathering her in, “but now you are here with me.”

  The winter sun had risen when Julius found Brutus in the small courtyard of the house, deep in conversation with Crassus over the lodgings for the century of the Tenth. They had brought ten mounts from Gaul and hobbled them in the yard the night before, with heavy blankets against the cold. Brutus had refilled their nosebags with grain and broken the thin sheet of ice that had formed on the water buckets. At the sound of footsteps, Brutus looked up.

  “I would like a private word,” Julius said.

  Crassus understood immediately and left them together. Brutus began to brush the shaggy winter coats of the horses in long strokes.

  “Well?” he said.