The Field Of Swords

CHAPTER 5

In the days that followed, time seemed to pass more slowly when Servilia could not find an excuse to take the horses out again. The Golden Hand was running well and she had brought two men from Rome large enough to quieten the wildest reveler. Instead of taking pleasure from the success, she found her thoughts constantly drifting back to the strange young man who could be vulnerable and frightening in the same moment. She had forced herself not to ask for him again and then waited for his invitation. When it had come, she had laughed aloud, amused at herself, yet unable to resist the excitement it brought.

She stopped to add another stem to the circlet she was weaving as they walked through a field of swaying corn. Julius paused with her, more relaxed than he had felt for a long time. The depression that had crushed him seemed to vanish in her company, and it was strange to think that their first ride into the wilderness had been only a few weeks before. She had seen the parts of his life that mattered most to him, and he felt as if he had always known Servilia.

With her, the nightmares he tried to drown like pups in heavy wine had lifted, though he felt them circling still. She was the blessing of Alexander over him, a ward against the shadows that pressed him into despair. He could forget who he had become, dropping the mantle of his authority. An hour or two each day in sunshine that warmed more than his skin.

He looked at her as she straightened, wondering at the force of the feelings she engendered. In one moment she could reveal a knowledge of the city and the senators that would leave him breathless, and in another she could be almost childlike as she laughed or chose another bloom to weave with the rest.

Brutus had encouraged the friendship after that first trip to the village of the broken statue. He saw that Servilia was like a balm to his friend’s troubled spirit, beginning to heal wounds that had festered for too long.

“Pompey was wrong to have the slaves crucified,” Julius said, remembering the line of crosses and the weeping, tortured figures on them, waiting for death. The images of the great slave rebellion were still painfully fresh in his mind, even after four years. Crows had gorged until they were too fat to fly and cawed in anger at his men as they kicked out at the staggering birds. Julius shuddered slightly.

“After the beginning, we didn’t offer the slaves anything but death. They knew we’d never let them run.

They were badly led and Pompey had them tied and nailed all the way up the Via from the south. It was not greatness in him, then, responding to the terror of the mob.”

“You would not have done it?” Servilia asked.

“Spartacus and his gladiators had to die, but there were brave men in the ranks who had faced legions and beaten them. No, I would have formed a new legion and salted it with the hardest bastard centurions from all the others. Six thousand brave men, Servilia, all wasted for his ambition. It would have been a better example than putting them all on crosses, but Pompey can see no further than his petty rules and traditions. He holds his line while the rest of the world moves past him.”

“The people cheered them into the city, Julius. Pompey was the one they really wanted as consul.

Crassus took the second seat in his shadow.”

“Better if the people had turned the slaves back on their own,” Julius muttered. “They would stand tall then, rather than rushing to kiss the feet of Pompey. Better to grow your crops rather than cry out for men like Pompey to give you food. It’s a sickness in us, you know. We always raise unworthy men to rule us.”

He struggled to find words and Servilia stopped, turning to face him. On such a hot day, she had chosen a stola of thin linen and wore her hair bound back with a silver thread, revealing her neck. Every day he spent with her seemed to bring some facet to his attention. He wanted to kiss her throat.

“He destroyed the pirates, Julius. Of all people, you should be pleased at that.”

“Of course I am,” he said bitterly, “though I wanted the task myself. Pompey doesn’t dream, Servilia.

There are whole new lands rich with pearls and gold, but he rests and organizes games for the people. They starve in the fields while he builds new temples for them to pray for wealth.”

“You would do more?” she asked, taking his arm. The touch was warm and his thoughts fled before the onslaught of a sudden passion that surprised him. He wondered if his thoughts showed, as he stammered a reply.

“I would do more. There is gold enough to raise the least of Rome, and the chance is there for us, if we can grasp it. There is nothing in the world like our city. They say Egypt is richer, but we are still young enough to fill our hands. Pompey is asleep if he thinks the borders will remain safe with the legions we have. We need to raise more, and pay for them with new lands and gold.”

She let her hand drop, feeling a shiver of desire raise the soft hairs of her skin. There was such a force in him, when it was not shuttered in grief and despair. She saw the darkness cast away with both awe and pleasure. The man who aroused her with a touch was not the one who had met her first at the gates of the fort, and she wondered what would come of the reawakening.

When she felt herself longing for him, it had shocked her, almost frightened her. That was not how it was meant to be. The men who loved her never touched more than the skin they craved. They could spend themselves in her without more than a tremble of real response. Yet this strange young man threw her into confusion whenever his blue eyes caught hers. Such strange eyes, with the dark pupil that hurt him in bright light. It seemed to see all her artifice for what it was, breaking through the smoothness of her ways to the privacy of her.

She sighed as they walked on. She was being foolish. This was no time in her life to be moonstruck by a man her son’s age. She ran her hand along the line of her bound hair unconsciously. Not that her years showed, at all. She oiled her body every night and ate well and carefully. A man could take her for thirty, she had been told, rather than the year shy of forty she had really lived. Sometimes she felt older than that, especially in the city, when Crassus came to her. Sometimes she would weep for no reason at all, the mood vanishing as quickly as it had come. She knew the young man at her side could have any of the young girls of the city. He would not want one who carried so many marks on her, that no one else could see.

She crossed her arms, almost crushing the circlet of bound flowers. She didn’t doubt she could rouse him to passion if she wanted. He was young and innocent compared to her. It would be easy, and she realized that part of her wanted it, would welcome his hands on her in the long grasses of the meadow. She shook her head slightly. Stupid girl. Should never have kissed him.

She spoke quickly to cover the pause, wondering if he had noticed her distraction, or the flush that had come to her cheeks.

“You haven’t seen Rome recently, Julius. There are so many poor now. The slave army left almost no one to work the fields, and the beggars are like flies. At least Pompey gives them a taste of glory, even when their bellies are empty. The Senate wouldn’t dare to hold him back in anything, in case the mobs rise and consume them all. It was a fragile peace when I left, and I doubt anything has improved since then. You couldn’t know how close they are to chaos. The Senate lives in fear of another uprising to rival the battles with Spartacus. Everyone who can afford them has guards and the poor kill each other in the streets with nothing done about it. They are not easy times, Julius.”

“Perhaps I should return then. I haven’t seen my daughter in four years and Pompey owes me a great deal. Perhaps it is time to call in a few of my debts and make sure I am a part of the work again.”

For a moment, his face lit with a passion that made her heart lift as she saw the image of the man she’d watched at the trial, holding the Senate rapt as he took justice from his enemies. Then, just as quickly, it was gone and he blew air through his lips in exasperation.

“I had a wife to share it with before all this. I had Tubruk, who was more like a father to me than a friend; my home. The future was rushing on me with a kind of… joy. Now I’ve nothing but new swords and mines and it seems pointless. I would give anything to have Tubruk come back for one hour to share a drink with me, or the chance to see Cornelia just for a while, long enough to say sorry for breaking my promises to her.”

He rubbed his eyes with his hand before walking on. Servilia almost reached for him then, knowing her touch could bring him comfort. She resisted with an enormous effort of will. The touch would lead to more, and though she ached to be held herself, she had the strength not to play the game she knew so well, that she had known all her life. A younger woman might have gathered him in without shame at the moment of his weakness, but Servilia knew too much to try. There would be other days.

Then he turned to her and held her tightly enough to hurt, his mouth pressing her lips to open for him.

She gave way to it, unable to help herself.

Brutus slid neatly from the saddle as he passed under the gates of the fort. The Tenth had staged complex maneuvers out in the hills and Octavian had done well, using the force he had been given to flank Domitius in a skillful display. Brutus didn’t hesitate as he ran into the buildings. The dark moods that had cast a cloud over them all were already a memory, and he knew Julius would be pleased to hear how well his young relative was doing. Octavian had the shoulders to command, as Marius used to say.

The guard at the base of the steps was out of position, standing well back from his post. Brutus heard him shout as he clattered up the stairs, but only grinned.

Julius was lying on a couch with Servilia, their faces flushed in panic at the sudden, noisy arrival of Brutus into the room. Julius leapt naked to his feet and faced his friend in rage.

“Get out!” he roared.

Brutus froze in disbelief, then his face twisted and he spun around, slamming the door shut behind him.

Julius turned slowly to meet Servilia’s eyes, already regretting his anger. He pulled his clothes on roughly, sitting back on the long couch. Her perfume was heavy in his nostrils and he knew he smelled of her. As he stood, the warmth of the cloth was left behind and he drew away, thinking of what he had to do.

“I’ll go out to him,” she said, standing.

Wrapped in bitterness, Julius barely noticed her nudity. It had been madness to fall asleep where they could be found, but there was no point in regretting what was past. He shook his head as he tied his sandals.

“You have less of an apology to make. Let me find him first,” he said.

Her eyes hardened for a moment. “You won’t apologize… for me?” she said, her voice deceptively calm.

Julius stood and faced her. “Not for a moment of you,” he said, softly.

She came into his arms then and he found there was something indescribably erotic in holding a naked woman while fully clothed. He broke away with a grin despite his worry for Brutus.

“He’ll be all right when he’s calmed down a little,” he said to reassure her, wishing he believed it. With steady hands, he buckled his gladius to his waist. Servilia looked suddenly afraid.

“I don’t want you to fight him, Julius. You must not.”

Julius forced a laugh that seemed to echo in his empty stomach.

“He’d never hurt me,” he said as he left.

Outside the door, Julius’s expression settled into a grim mask as he came down the stairs. Domitius and Cabera were there with Ciro, and he imagined their eyes accused him.

“Where is he?” Julius snapped.

“Training yard,” Domitius said. “I’d leave him for a while if I were you, General. His blood’s running hot and it’ll do no good to have it out now.”

Julius hesitated, then his old recklessness swept through him. He had brought it about and the price was his to pay.

“Stay here,” he said curtly. “He’s my oldest friend and this is private.”

Brutus stood alone in the empty yard, a gladius by Cavallo glittering in his hand. He nodded as Julius walked toward him, and once again Julius almost hesitated at the black glare that followed his every movement. If it came to blood, he could not beat Brutus. Even if he could steal victory, he doubted he could take that life above all others.

Brutus brought the shining blade into first position and Julius emptied his mind with the old discipline Renius had taught. This was an enemy and he could kill him.

Julius unsheathed his sword.

“Did you pay her?” Brutus said softly, breaking his concentration.

Julius fought against the spiky anger that came to him then. They had both learned from the same man, and he knew better than to listen. They began to circle each other.

“I think I knew, but I didn’t believe it,” Brutus began again. “I knew you wouldn’t shame me with her, so I didn’t worry.”

“There is no shame,” Julius replied.

“Yes. There is,” Brutus said and moved.

Of all men, Julius knew his style better than anyone, but he barely managed to parry a blade sent straight at his heart. It was a killing blow and he could not excuse it. Anger rose in him then and he moved a little faster, his step a little firmer on the ground as his senses quickened. So be it.

Julius darted in, ducking under a sweep of silver and forcing Brutus onto his back foot. He pulled his blade to the side to cut, but Brutus skipped away with a sneer, then answered with a rain of blows.

They broke clear, beginning to pant slightly. Julius clenched his left hand into a fist to close a gash across his palm. The blood dripped slowly from it as he moved around, leaving spots like glossy eyes to vanish in the sand.

“I love her,” Julius said. “I love you. Too much for this.” With a gesture of disgust, he threw his sword away and stood facing his friend.

Brutus brought the point up to his throat and looked into Julius’s eyes.

“They all know? Cabera, Domitius, Octavian?”

Julius looked steadily back at him, steeling himself not to flinch.

“Perhaps. We didn’t plan it, Brutus. I didn’t want you to walk in on us.”

The sword was a still point in a moving world. Julius clenched his jaw, a vast sense of calm settling over him. He relaxed every muscle consciously and stood waiting. He did not want to die, but if it came, he would treat it with contempt.

“This is no small thing, Marcus. Not for me, not for her,” he said.

The sword came down suddenly and the manic light died from Brutus’s eyes.

“There is so much between us, Julius, but if you hurt her, I will kill you.”

“Go and see her. She’s worried about you,” Julius replied, ignoring the threat.

Brutus held his gaze for a long moment more before walking away and leaving him alone in the training yard. Julius watched him go, then opened his hand with a wince. For a moment, anger surged again. He would have hanged any other man who dared to raise a sword against him. There could be no excuse.

Yet they had been boys together and that counted. Perhaps enough to swallow the betrayal of a blade aimed at his heart. Julius narrowed his eyes in thought. It would be harder to trust the man a second time.

The next six weeks were filled with almost unbearable tension. Though Brutus had spoken with his mother and given a tight-lipped blessing to the union, he walked the compound with his anger and loneliness like a cloak around him.

Without a word of explanation, Julius began to drill the Tenth himself again. He took them out alone for days at a time and never spoke except to give his orders. For their part, the legionaries struggled through pain and exhaustion just to receive a nod from him and that seemed to be worth more than effusive praise from anyone else.

When he was in the barracks, Julius wrote letters and orders far into the night, cutting deeply into the reserves of gold he’d built up. He sent riders back to Rome to commission new armor from Alexandria’s workshop, and caravans of supplies wound their way through the mountains from Spanish cities. New mines had to be cut to supply iron ore for the swords being produced at Cavallo’s design. Forests were felled for charcoal and there was never a moment when any one of the five thousand soldiers of the Tenth did not have two or three tasks that needed doing.

His officers were caught between the pain of being excluded and a kind of joy at seeing Julius rediscover the old energy. Long before Julius summoned his subordinates from their posts around the country, they guessed the time in Spain was coming to an end. Hispania was simply too small to contain the general of the Tenth.

Julius chose the most able of the Spanish quaestors to take his place in the interim until Rome appointed another of her sons. He handed over the seal of his office and then threw himself back into working all day and night, sometimes going without sleep for three days in a row before collapsing in exhaustion. After a short rest, he would rise and begin again. Those in the barracks trod carefully around him and waited nervously for the result of all his labor.

Brutus came to him in the early hours of a morning, when the camp was still and silent all around them. He knocked on the door and entered as Julius called out a muttered response.

Julius sat at a desk strewn with maps and clay tablets, with more on the floor at his feet. He stood as he saw Brutus, and for a moment the coldness between them seemed to prohibit speech. The habit of friendship was rusty for both of them.

Brutus swallowed painfully. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Julius remained silent, watching him. The face he presented was like a stranger’s, with nothing of the friendship Brutus missed.

Brutus tried again. “I was a fool, but you’ve known me long enough to let it go,” he said. “I am your friend. Your sword, remember?”

Julius nodded, accepting him. “I love Servilia,” he said softly. “I would have told you before anyone else, but it came too quickly between us. There are no games here, but my relationship is private. I will not answer to you for it.”

“When I saw you together, I-” Brutus began.

Julius held up a stiff hand. “No. I don’t want to hear that again. It’s done.”

“Gods, you won’t make this easy for me, will you?” Brutus said, shaking his head.

“It shouldn’t be. I care more for you than any man I’ve ever met, and you struck to kill me in the training yard. That is hard to forgive.”

“What?” Brutus replied quickly. “I didn’t-”

“I know, Brutus.”

Brutus slumped slightly. Without another word, he pulled up a stool. After a moment, Julius took his own seat.

“Do you want me to keep apologizing? I was raging. I thought you were using her like… It was a mistake, I’m sorry. What more do you want?”

“I want to know I can trust you. I want all this to be forgotten,” Julius replied.

Brutus stood. “You can trust me. You know it. I gave up Primigenia for you. Let this go.”

As they looked at each other a smile crept onto Julius’s face.

“Did you notice how I parried the stroke? I wish Renius could have seen that.”

“Yes, you were very good,” Brutus replied sarcastically. “Are you satisfied?”

“I think I could have won,” Julius said cheerfully.

Brutus blinked at him. “Now that’s going too far.”

The tension between them receded to a distant pressure.

“I’m going to take the legion back to Rome,” Julius said in a rush, relieved to have his friend to share his plans once again. He wondered if the weeks after the fight had hurt Brutus half as much as they had hurt him.

“We all know, Julius. The men gossip like a group of old women. Is it to challenge Pompey?” Brutus spoke casually, as if the lives of thousands didn’t hang on the answer.

“No, he rules well enough, with Crassus. I will put my name forward to be consul at the elections.” He watched Brutus for a reaction.

“You think you can win?” Brutus replied slowly, thinking it over. “You’ll have only a few months and the people have a short memory.”

“I am the last surviving blood of Marius. I will remind them,” Julius said, and Brutus felt the stirring of the old excitement. He reflected on how his friend had experienced almost a rebirth in the last months. The snapping anger had gone, and his mother had played her part in it. Even his dear little Angelina was in awe of Servilia, and he could begin to understand why.

“It’s almost dawn. You should get some sleep,” he said.

“Not yet, there’s a lot still to do before we can see Rome again.”

“Then I will stay with you, unless you mind,” Brutus said, stifling another yawn.

Julius smiled at him. “I don’t mind. I need someone to write as I dictate.”