Conn Iggulden - The Field Of Swords

“I thought it would protect your head better than the one you usually wear. There is a slide on the top for a plume, if you want one. There is nothing like it in Rome.”

Julius looked out through the iron mask at her, wishing for one painful moment that she was his and not his friend’s.

“It is perfect,” he said. “Thank you.” He reached down and hugged her, smelling the rich scent she used. An impulse struck him then and he removed the helmet as she stood back, his face flushed with more than just the heat. The legion would wait a little longer, after all. Perhaps there was still time to visit Servilia before he left.

“Alexandria, I must ask you to excuse us,” Julius said. “Gentlemen? I have an errand to run in the city before we join the men.”

Domitius vaulted into his saddle as an answer and the other two formed up. Alexandria blew a kiss to Brutus as Julius dug his heels into the horse’s flanks and they trotted down the road, the crowd scattering before them.

As they neared Servilia’s house, Brutus lost some of the glow Alexandria had imparted. If anything, he was relieved that the relationship between Julius and his mother had ended. But now, seeing his friend’s eager expression, he groaned inwardly. He should have known Julius wouldn’t give up so easily.

“Are you sure?” Brutus asked him as they dismounted at the door and passed the horses into the hands of her slaves.

“I am,” Julius replied, striding in.

As consul, he could go where he pleased in the city, but all four of them were known to the house in various fashions, and Octavian and Domitius paused in an outer chamber to say their own goodbyes to their favorites while they had the chance. Brutus threw himself onto a long couch and settled down to wait.

He alone of them had never visited the house for anything except to see his mother. There was something vaguely incestuous about the idea and he ignored the interest of the girls she kept there. Anyway, there was Alexandria, he told himself virtuously.

Julius strode through the corridors to Servilia’s private rooms. What would he say to her? They had not spoken in months, but there was a magic to leaving, a lack of consequence that might help them find some sort of friendship, at least.

His spirits lifted as he saw her. She wore a dark blue wrap that left her shoulders bare and he smiled as he saw his black pearl set in gold against the first gentle swell of her breasts. Alexandria deserved her reputation, he thought.

“I’m leaving, Servilia,” he said, walking toward her. “For Gaul. I was at the gate when I thought of you.”

He thought he saw a smile touch her mouth as he reached her, and took heart from it. She had never looked so beautiful as she did then, and he knew he would have no difficulty remembering her face on the long march ahead. He took her hands in his and pressed them, looking into her eyes.

“Why don’t you come?” he said, “I could have the best carriage in Rome brought to the column. There’s a Roman settlement in the south of Gaul, and you could be with me.”

“To save you finding your own whores, Julius?” she said softly. “Are you worried what you’ll do without a woman so far from home?”

He gaped at her, seeing a cold hardness that was almost frightening in its intensity.

“I don’t understand you,” he said.

She pulled her hands back from him and he swayed. He was close enough to smell her perfume and it was maddening. Not to be able to touch her after every inch had been his. He felt anger surge in him.

“You are cruel, Servilia,” he muttered, and she laughed at him.

“Do you know how many jilted lovers I have seen shouting in this house? Consuls as well, Julius, or do you think they are too mighty for such a display? Whatever it is you wanted from me, it is not here. Do you understand?”

Somewhere behind her, Julius heard a man’s voice call out. He tensed.

“Crassus? Is he here?”

Servilia took a step forward, pushing her hand against his chest. Her teeth bared as she spoke and her voice had lost all of the softness he loved.

“It is no business of yours whom I see, Julius.”

Julius lost his temper, his hands clenching in impotent rage. In his passion, he thought of snatching the pearl from her neck, and she moved back from him as if she sensed it.

“You’ll be his whore now? He’s closer to your age, at least,” Julius said.

She slapped him hard and he rocked her head back with a blow of his own, following instantly from hers so that the sounds came almost together.

Servilia raked her other hand at his eyes, scoring his cheek with her nails, and Julius snarled at her, stepping in to attack. He was blind with fury as she fell back at last from him, and then the anger left him empty and panting, his face bitter. A drop of blood fell from his chin where she had marked him. His gaze followed it.

“So this is who you are, Julius,” she said, standing stiffly before him.

He saw her mouth already beginning to swell and shame overwhelmed him.

She sneered. “I wonder what my son will say when you see him next.” Her eyes glittered with malice and Julius shook his head.

“I would have given you everything, Servilia. Anything you wanted,” he said softly. She walked away from him then, leaving him alone.

Brutus was standing as Julius came back through the outer rooms of the house. Octavian and Domitius were with him and Julius knew from their expressions that they had heard. Brutus was pale, his eyes dead, and Julius felt an involuntary shudder of fear as he looked at his friend.

“You hit her, Julius?” Brutus said.

Julius touched his bloody cheek. “I will not explain myself to you, even to you,” he replied, beginning to walk past the three men.

Brutus dropped his hand to the gold hilt he had won, and Domitius and Octavian touched their own, moving to stand between him and Julius.

“Don’t,” Domitius snapped. “Take a step back!”

Brutus broke off his gaze from Julius to the men facing him with such menace.

“Do you really think you could stop me?” he said.

Domitius returned his glare. “If I have to. Do you think drawing your sword will change anything? What goes on between them is no more your business than it is mine. Let it go.”

Brutus took his hand away from his sword. He opened his mouth to speak and then walked past them all out to the horses, leaping into the saddle and kicking his mount into a canter back toward the gates.

Domitius wiped sweat from his forehead with his hand. He glanced at Octavian and saw the worry there as the young man was caught between forces he could not stand.

“He’ll calm down, Octavian, depend on it.”

“The march will sweat it out of him,” Julius said, looking after his friend. He hoped it was true. He touched his cheek again and winced.

“Not the best omen,” he murmured to himself. “Let’s go, gentlemen. I have seen enough of this city to last me for a long time. Once we step across the gate line, we are free of all of it.”

“I hope so,” Domitius replied, but Julius did not hear him.

As they trotted toward the Quirinal gate, Brutus was there in its shadow. Julius saw his eyes were bloodshot holes in a murderous expression, and he reined in by him.

“I made a mistake going back to her, Brutus,” Julius said, watching him closely. He loved his friend more than anyone in the world, but if his hand moved for the hilt of his gladius, Julius was ready to kick his horse straight at him to spoil an attack. Every muscle of his legs was tense for the action as Brutus looked up.

“The legions are ready to march. It’s time,” Brutus said. His eyes were cold and Julius let out a slow breath, words dying in his throat.