Bronze doors, almost as large as those that opened onto the Senate, boomed as they were struck with a mailed gauntlet. They opened to reveal two of his legionaries dragging in a burly soldier with his wrists and feet tied. They pulled him across the shining mosaic toward Sulla, and he could see the man's face was already battered, his nose broken. A scribe walked behind the soldiers and consulted a sheaf of parchment for details.
"This one is Orso Ferito, master," the scribe intoned. "He was found under a pile of Marius's men and has been identified by two witnesses. He led some of the traitors in the resistance."
Sulla stood lithely and walked to the figure, signaling for the guards to let him fall. He was conscious, but a dirty cloth gag prevented anything more than animal grunts from him.
"Cut the gag away. I would question him," Sulla ordered, and the deed was done quickly and brutally, a blade bringing fresh blood and a groan from the prostrate man. "You led one of the attacks, didn't you? Are you that one? My men were saying you had taken over after Marius. Are you that man?"
Orso Ferito looked up with a sparkle of hatred. His gaze played over the bruise and cut on Sulla's face, and he smiled, revealing teeth broken and bloody. The voice seemed dragged from some deep well as it croaked out, "I would do it again."
"Yes. So would I," Sulla replied. "Put out his eyes and then hang him." He nodded to the torturer, who removed a sliver of hot iron from the brazier, holding the darker end in heavy clamps. Orso struggled as his arms were bound with leather straps, his muscles writhing. The torturer was impassive as he brought the metal close enough to singe the lashes, then pressed it in, rewarded with a soft, grunting, animal sound.
Sulla drained his cup without tasting the juice. He looked on without pleasure, congratulating himself for his lack of emotion. He was not a monster, he knew, but the people expected a strong leader and that is what they would get. As soon as the Senate could reconvene, he would declare himself dictator and assume the power of the old kings. Then Rome would see a new era.
The unconscious Ferito was dragged away to be executed, and Sulla had only a few minutes alone before the door boomed again and fresh soldiers entered with the little scribe. This time, he knew the young man who stumbled between them.
"Julius Caesar," he said. "Captured at the very height of the excitement, I believe. Let him stand, gentlemen; this is not a common man. Remove his gag—gently."
He looked at the young lad and was pleased to note how he straightened. His face bore some bruising, but Sulla knew his men would have been wary of risking their general's displeasure with too much damage before judgment. He stood tall, a fraction under six feet, and his body was well muscled and sun-dark. Blue eyes looked coldly out from his face and Sulla could feel the force of the man coming at him, seeming to fill the room till it was just the two of them, soldiers, torturer, scribe, and slave all forgotten.
Sulla tilted his head back slightly and his mouth stretched and opened into a pleased expression.
"Metella died, I am sorry to say. She took her own life before my men could break in and save her. I would have let her go, but you... you are a different problem. Did you know the old man captured with you escaped? He seems to have slipped his bonds and freed the other. Most unusual companions for a young gentleman." He saw the spark of interest in the other's face.
"Oh, yes. I have men out looking for the pair, but no luck at present. If my men had tied you with them, I daresay you would be free by now. Fate can be a fickle mistress—your membership in the nobilitas leaves you here while those gutter scum run free."
Julius said nothing. He did not expect to live an hour longer and suddenly saw that nothing he could say would have meaning or use. Raging at Sulla would only amuse him and pleading would arouse his cruelty. He remained silent and glared.
"What do we have on him, scribe?" Sulla spoke to the man with the parchment.
"Nephew of Marius, son of Julius. Both dead. Mother Aurelia, still alive, but deranged. Owns a small estate a few miles outside the city. Considerable debts to private houses, sums undisclosed. Husband of Cornelia, Cinna's daughter, married on the morning of the battle."
"Ah," Sulla said, interrupting. "The heart of the matter. Cinna is no friend of mine, though he is too wily to have supported Marius openly. He is wealthy; I understand why you would want the support of the old man, but surely your life is worth more.
"I will offer you a simple choice. Put this Cornelia aside and swear loyalty to me and I will let you live. If not, my torturer here is heating his tools once again. Marius would want you to live, young man. Make the right choice."
Julius glared his anger. What he knew of Sulla didn't help him. It could be a cruel trick to make him deny those he loved before executing him anyway.
As if sensing his thoughts, Sulla spoke again. "Divorce Cornelia and you will live. Such a simple act will shame Cinna, weakening him. You will go free. These men are all witnesses to my word as ruler of Rome. What is your answer?"
Julius held himself perfectly still. He hated this man. He had killed Marius and crippled the Republic his father had loved. No matter what he lost, the answer was clear and the words had to be said.
"My answer is no. Make an end of it."
Sulla blinked in surprise and then laughed out loud. "What a strange family! Do you know how many men have died in this very room over the last few days? Do you know how many have been blinded, castrated, and scarred? Yet you scorn my mercy?" He laughed again and the sound was harsh under the echoing dome.
"If I let you go free, will you try to kill me?"
Julius nodded. "I will devote my remaining years to that end."
Sulla grinned at him in genuine pleasure. "I thought so. You are fearless, and the only one of the nobilitas to refuse a bargain of mine." Sulla paused for a moment, raising his hand to signal to the torturer, who stood ready. Then his hand dropped listlessly.
"You may go free. Leave my city before sunset. If you come back while I live, I will have you killed without trial or audience. Cut his ropes, gentlemen. You have bound a free man." He chuckled for a moment, then was still as the ropes fell in twisted circles by Julius's feet. The young man rubbed his wrists, but his expression was as still as stone.
Sulla stood from his throne. "Take him to the gates and let him walk." He turned to look Julius in the eye. "If anyone ever asks you why, tell them it was because you remind me of myself and perhaps I have killed enough men today. That's all."
"What about my wife?" Julius called as his arms were taken again by the guards.
Sulla shrugged. "I may take her as a mistress, if she learns to please me."
Julius struggled wildly, but could not break free as he was dragged out.
The scribe lingered by the door. "General? Is that wise? He is Marius's nephew, after all...."
Sulla sighed and accepted another cup of cold liquid from the slave girl. "Gods save us from little men. I gave you my reason. I have achieved anything I ever wanted and boredom looms. It is good to leave a few dangers to threaten me."
His gaze focused far away. "He is an impressive young man. I think there may be two of Marius inside him."
The scribe's expression showed he understood none of it. "Shall I have the next one brought in, Consul?"
"No more today. Are the baths heated? Good, the Senate leaders will be dining with me tonight and I want to be fresh."
Sulla always had his pool as hot as he could possibly stand it. It relaxed him wonderfully. His only attendants were two of his house slave girls, and he rose naked out of the water without self-consciousness in front of them. They too were naked, except for bangles of gold on their wrists and around their necks.
Both had been chosen for their full figures, and he was pleased as he allowed them to rub the water from his body. It was good for a man to look on beautiful things. It raised the spirit above the level of the beasts.
"The water has brought my blood to the surface, but I feel sluggish," he murmured t
o them, walking a few paces to a long massage bench. It was soft under him and he felt himself relax completely. He closed his eyes, listening to the two young women as they tied the thin, springy wands of the birch tree, gathered fresh that morning and still green.
The two slaves stood over his heat-flushed body. Each held a long bunch of the cut branches, almost like a brush, three feet long. At first they almost caressed him with the birch twigs, leaving faint white marks on his skin.
He groaned slightly and they paused.
"Master, would you like it harder?" one of them asked timidly. Her mouth was bruised purple from his attentions the night before, and her hands trembled slightly.
He smiled without opening his eyes and stretched out on the bench. It was splendidly invigorating. "Ah yes," he replied dreamily. "Lay on, girls, lay on."
CHAPTER 34
Julius stood with Cabera and Tubruk at the docks, his face gray and cold. In contrast, as if to mock the grim events of his life, the day was hot and perfect, with only a light breeze coming off the sea to bring relief to the dust-stained travelers. It had been a hectic flight from the stinking city. At first he had been alone and on a sway-backed pony that was all he could buy for a gold ring. Grimacing, he had skirted around the firepits filled with flesh and trotted onto the main stone road west to the coast.
Then he heard a familiar hail and saw his friends step out from the trees ahead. It had been a joyous reunion to find each other alive, though the mood darkened as they told their stories.
Even in that first moment, Julius could see Tubruk had lost some of his vitality. He looked gaunt and dirty and told briefly of how they had lived as animals in streets where every sort of horror happened in the day and grew worse at night, where screams and shouts were the only clues. He and Cabera had agreed to wait a week on the road to the coast, hoping Julius could win free.
"After that," Cabera said, "we were going to steal some swords and cut you out."
Tubruk laughed in response and Julius could see they had grown closer in their time together. It failed to lighten his mood. Julius told them of Sulla's whimsical cruelty and his fists clenched in fresh anger as the words spilled from him.
"I will come back to Rome. I will cut off his balls if he touches my wife," he said quietly at the end.
His companions could not hold his gaze for long, and even Cabera's usual humor had vanished for a while.
"He has the pick of women in Rome, Gaius," Tubruk murmured. "He's just the sort of man who likes to twist the knife a little. Her father will keep her safe, even get her out of Rome if there's a danger. That old man would set his guards on Sulla himself if there was a threat to her. You know this."
Julius nodded, his eyes distant, needing to be persuaded. At first, he had wanted to try to get to her under cover of night, but the curfew was back, and moving in the streets would mean instant death.
At least Cabera had managed to get hold of a few valuable items in the days he had spent on the streets with Tubruk. A gold armlet he had found in ashes bought them horses and bribes to pass the wall guards. The drafts that Julius still carried against his skin were too large to change outside a city, and it was infuriating to have to rely on a few bronze coins when paper wealth was so close but useless to them. Julius was not even sure that Marius's signature would make them good anymore, but guessed the wily general would have thought of that. He had prepared for almost anything.
Julius had spent a couple of their valuable coins sending letters, giving each to legionaries on their way back to the city or outward to the coast and Greece.
Cornelia would know he was safe, at least, but it would be a long time before he could see her again. Until he could return with strength and support, he was not able to return at all, and the bitterness of it twisted and ate at him, leaving him empty and tired. Marcus would hear of the disaster in Rome and not come blindly back to look for him when his term of service ended. That was only a small comfort. As never before, he felt the loss of his friend.
A thousand other regrets taunted him as they came into his mind, too painful to be allowed to take root. The world had changed fundamentally for the young man. Marius could not be dead. The world was empty without him.
Weary after days on the road, the three men trotted their horses into the bustling coastal port west of Rome. Tubruk spoke first, after they had dismounted and tied their horses to a post outside an inn.
"The flags of three legions are here. Your papers will get you a commission in any of them. That one is based in Greece, that one in Egypt, and the last is on a trade run up to the north." Tubruk spoke calmly, showing his knowledge of the empire's movements had not waned in the time he had spent running the estate.
Julius felt uncomfortable and exposed on the docks, yet this was not a decision to be hurried. If Sulla changed his mind, even now there could be armed men on their way to kill them or bring them back to Rome.
Tubruk could not give much advice. True, he had recognized the banners of the legions, but he knew he was fifteen years out of date when it came to the reputations of the officers. He felt frustrated to have to put such a serious decision in the hands of the gods. At least two years of Julius's life would be spent with whichever unit they decided upon, and they could end up flipping coins.
"I like the sound of Egypt, myself," Cabera said, looking wistfully across the sea. "It is a long time since I shook its dust from my sandals." He could feel the future bending around the three of them. Few lives had such simple choices, or maybe all did but most could not see them when they came. Egypt, Greece, or the north? Each beckoned in different ways. The lad must make a choice on his own, but at least Aegyptus was hot.
Tubruk studied the galleys rocking at their moorings, looking for one to rule out. Each was guarded by alert legionaries, and men swarmed over the wallowing vessels, repairing, scrubbing, or refitting after voyages all over the world.
He shrugged. He assumed that after the fuss had died down and Rome was peaceful, he would return to the estate. Someone had to keep the place alive.
"Marcus and Renius are in Greece. You could meet up with them there if you wanted," Tubruk ventured, turning to watch the road for dust raised by trackers.
"No. I haven't achieved anything, except to be married and run out of Rome by my enemy," Julius muttered.
"Your uncle's enemy," Cabera corrected.
Julius turned slowly to the old man, his gaze unwavering. "No. He is my enemy now. I will see him dead, in time."
"In time, perhaps," Tubruk said. "Today you need to get away and learn to be a soldier and an officer. You are young. This is not the end of you, or your career." Tubruk held his gaze for a second, thinking how much like his father Julius was becoming.
Eventually, the younger man nodded briefly before turning away. He examined the ships again.
"Egypt it is. I always wanted to see the land of the pharaohs."
"A fine choice," Cabera said. "You will love the Nile, and the women are scented and beautiful." The old man was pleased to see Julius smile for the first time since they had been captured in the night. It was a good omen, he thought.
Tubruk gave a boy a small coin to hold their horses for an hour and the three men walked toward the galley ship that bore an Egyptian legion's flags. As they approached, the busy action of workers became even more apparent.
"Looks like they're getting ready to ship out," Tubruk noted, jerking his thumb at barrels of supplies being loaded by slaves. Salted meat, oil, and fish swung over the narrow strip of water into the arms of sweating slaves on board, each one noted and crossed off a slate with typical Roman efficiency. Tubruk whistled to one of the guards, who stepped over to them.
"We need to speak to the captain. Is he aboard?" Tubruk asked.
The soldier gave them a quick appraisal and appeared to be satisfied, despite the dust of the road. Tubruk and Julius, at least, looked like soldiers.
"He is. We'll be casting off on the noon tide. I can't guarantee
he'll see you."
"Tell him Marius's nephew is here, fresh from the city. We'll wait," Tubruk replied.
The soldier's eyebrows rose a fraction and his gaze slid over to Julius. "Right you are, sir. I'll let him know immediately."
The man took a step to the dockside and walked the narrow plank bridge onto the deck of the galley. He disappeared behind the raised wooden structure that dominated the ship and, Julius guessed, must house the captain's quarters. While they waited, Julius noted the features of the huge vessel, the oar-holes in the side that would be used to move them out of harbor and in battle to give them the speed to ram enemy vessels, the huge square sails that were waiting to be raised for the wind.
The deck was clear of loose objects, as befitted a Roman war vessel. Everything that might cause injury in rough seas was lashed down securely. Steps led to the lower levels at various places in the planking, and each could be secured with a bolted hatch to prevent heavy waves from crashing down after the crew. It looked like a well-run ship, but until he met the captain, he wouldn't know how things would be for the next two years of his life. He could smell tar and salt and sweat, the scents of an alien world he did not know. He felt strangely nervous and almost laughed at himself.
Out of the deck shadows came a tall man in the full uniform of a centurion. He looked hard and neat, with gray hair cut short to his head and his breastplate shined to a bright bronze glow in the sun. His expression was watchful as he crossed the planks to the dockside and greeted the three waiting men.
"Good day, gentlemen. I am Centurion Gaditicus, nominal captain of this vessel for the Third Partica legion. We cast off on the next tide, so I cannot spare you a great deal of time, but the name of Consul Marius carries a lot of weight, even now. State your business and I'll see what I can do."