Conn Iggulden - The Death Of Kings

“You have named some powerful men, Antonidus. I trust you have not mentioned your suspicions to anyone else? I would hate to lose you,” Cato said with mockery in his tone.

Antonidus seemed not to notice. “I will keep my thoughts to myself until I have proof to accuse them. They have profited by Sulla's death and openly vote against his supporters in Senate. My instinct tells me it was one of them, or they were consulted. If I could only question them to be sure!” He was practically grinding his teeth in anger, and Cato had to wait as the general's skin lost its mottling and the spasm of rage faded.

“You may not approach them, Antonidus. Those three are well protected by Senate tradition and their guards. Even if you are correct, they may yet escape you.”

He said this mainly to see if Antonidus could be taunted into a complete loss of control and was gratified to see the purpling veins in the man's forehead and neck. Cato laughed and the general snapped out of his anger, bewildered by the sudden sound. How had Sulla been able to bear him? Cato wondered. The man was as open as a child and as easy to manipulate.

“The solution is an easy one, Antonidus. You hire your own assassins, being careful not to let them know you.” He had his complete attention now, he noted with satisfaction. Cato felt the beginnings of a wine headache and wanted the angry little fellow to leave him.

“Send your killers to the families, Antonidus. Choose a loved wife, a daughter, a son. Leave a mark on them to show it was done for Sulla's memory. One of your arrows will hit home, and the others…? Well, they were never friends of mine. There will be advantages in having them made vulnerable for a time. Then let it be finished and imagine Sulla is at rest in a sensible fashion, as good ghosts should be.”

He smiled as Antonidus mulled over the idea, the thin face lighting with bright cruelty. The lines of worry eased from the general's forehead where they had been carved over the months since the poisoning. Cato nodded, knowing he had reached his man. His thoughts turned to the possibility of a little cold meat before he slept, and he barely noticed as Antonidus bowed out of the room, moving with quick, excited steps.

Later, as he pressed food into his slowly chewing mouth, Cato sighed with irritation as his thoughts turned to the problem of his idiot son and Renius. He remembered watching the man fight in the arena and shivered deliciously as he pictured a controlled savagery that had shocked even the baying crowd of Rome to silence. A man who risked his life so cheaply would not be easy to turn. What could he offer for his son? The boy general, Brutus, was heavily in debt. Perhaps gold would sway him. Power was such a fickle thing, and where money and influence failed, as he thought they must, he would need such useful tools as Antonidus. It would have been a shame to lose him.

Alexandria paused before knocking on the gate of the estate she had known so well. The five miles from the city had been a little like turning back time for herself. She had last stood there as a slave, and memories flooded her. Being whipped by Renius, kissing Gaius in the stables, working until she dropped in wind and rain, killing men with a kitchen knife in the darkness under the walls at the height of the riots. If Julius hadn't taken her into the city, she could be working there still, broken by the years.

Old faces came back to her and the intervening time seemed to vanish, so that it took every bit of her courage to raise her hand and thump it into the heavy wood.

“Who is there?” a strange voice called, accompanied by quick footsteps to the top of the wall within. A face she did not know looked down at her, carefully blank as the slave took in her appearance and the little boy who held her hand. She raised her head defiantly under this scrutiny, looking back as confidently as she could despite her racing heartbeat.

“Alexandria. I have come to see Tubruk. Is he here?”

“Please wait for a moment, madam,” the slave replied, disappearing.

Alexandria took a quick breath. He had judged her as a freewoman. She straightened her shoulders further, her confidence growing. It would be hard to face Tubruk, and she had to force herself to be calm as she waited. Octavian remained silent, still angry at the decision they had made for him.

When Tubruk pushed open the gate and came out to her, she almost wilted, gripping Octavian's hand hard enough to make him yelp. The man seemed unchanged, still the same as the rest of the world swept wildly onward. His smile was genuinely friendly and she felt some of her tension ease.

“I heard you were doing well,” he said. “I can have some food brought if you're hungry.”

“Thirsty, after the walk, Tubruk. This is Octavian.” Tubruk bent down to look at the small boy as he edged behind Alexandria, looking worried.

“Good morning, lad. I expect you are hungry?” Octavian nodded convulsively and Tubruk chuckled. “I never knew a boy who wasn't. Come inside, I'll have refreshments brought to us.”

Tubruk paused in thought for a moment.

“Marcus Brutus is here,” he said, “and Renius with him.”

Alexandria stiffened slightly. The name of Renius carried bitter memories. Brutus, too, was a name from her forgotten past; sweetness mixed with pain. She gripped Octavian tightly as they passed through the gate, more for her own comfort than his.

The courtyard brought bright memories back to her with a small shudder. She had stood… there, to stab a man who grabbed at her, and Susanna had died over by the gate. She shook her head and took a deep breath. It was too easy to become lost in the past, here of all places.

“Is the mistress at home?” she asked.

Tubruk's expression changed slightly as he replied, making him look older. “Aurelia is very unwell. You won't be able to see her, if that's what you want.”

“I'm sorry to hear that, but it was you I came to see.”

He led them into a quiet room that she had rarely entered in her time as a slave. The floor was warm and the room felt comfortable and lived in. Tubruk left them to arrange a meal and she began to relax even further as they waited alone. Octavian fidgeted irritably, scuffing his sandals on the rug until Alexandria stopped his swinging feet with a firm grip on his knee.

When Tubruk returned, he put down a tray with a jug and bowls of freshly sliced fruit. Octavian fell on it with delight, and Tubruk smiled at the boy's enthusiasm as he sat down and waited for Alexandria to speak.

“It's about Octavian that I want to speak to you,” she said after a pause.

“Would you like me to have someone show him the stables?” Tubruk replied quickly.

She shrugged. “He knows what I'm going to say.”

Tubruk filled a cup with cool apple juice for her, and she sipped at it as she collected her thoughts.

“I own a part share in a metalsmith's in the city, and we took Octavian on as an apprentice. I won't lie to you and say he was perfect. He was almost wild for a while, but he's a different boy now.” She was interrupted by the sight of Octavian trying to cram melon slices into his mouth. Tubruk saw her look and stood suddenly.

“That's enough for now, lad. Go and find the stables. Take a couple of the apple pieces for the horses.”

Octavian looked at Alexandria, and when she nodded, he grinned and scooped up a handful of the fruit, disappearing out of the room without another word. His footsteps echoed for a moment, then all was still again.

“He doesn't remember his father, and he was a street urchin when we took him in. You should see how he's changed, Tubruk! The boy is fascinated by the skills Tabbic teaches him. He's good with his hands and in time I think he could make a fair craftsman.”