The Emperor Series Books 1-5. Conn Iggulden

lying on his side and biting onto a piece of leather as Cabera probed a dagger wound in his stomach in the great kitchen. Gaius watched for a while, but no words were exchanged. He moved on, finding the cook sitting on a step with a bloody cleaver still in his hand. Gaius knew his father would have had words of encouragement for the man, who looked desolate and lost. He himself could not summon up anything except cold anger and stepped over the figure, who stared off into space as if Gaius wasn’t there. Then he stopped. If his father would have done it, then so would he.

      ‘I saw you fight on the wall,’ he said to the cook, his voice strong and firm at last.

      The man nodded and seemed to gather himself. He struggled to stand.

      ‘I did, master. I killed a great number, but I lost count after a while.’

      ‘Well, I’ve just burned one hundred and forty-nine bodies, so it must have been many,’ Gaius said, trying to smile.

      ‘Yes. No one got past me. I have never known such luck. I was touched by the gods, I think. We all were.’

      ‘Did you see my father die?’

      The cook stood and raised an arm as if to put it on the boy’s shoulder. At the last moment, he thought better of it and turned the gesture into a wave of regret.

      ‘I did. He took a great many with him and many before. There were piles around him at the end. He was a brave man and a good one.’

      Gaius felt his calm waver at the kind thought and his jaw clenched. When he had overcome his surge of sorrow, he spoke graciously: ‘He would be proud of you, I know. You were singing when I caught a glimpse of you.’

      To his surprise, the man blushed deeply.

      ‘Yes. I enjoyed the fight. I know there was blood and death all around, but everything was simple, you see. Anyone I could see was to be killed. I like things to be clear.’

      ‘I understand,’ Gaius said, forcing a bleak smile. ‘Rest now. The kitchens are open and soup will be brought around soon.’

      ‘The kitchens! And I am here! I must go, master, or the soup will be fit for nothing.’

      Gaius nodded and the man bolted off, leaving his enormous cleaver resting against the step, forgotten. Gaius sighed. He wished his own life was that simple, to be able to take on and cast off roles without regret.

      Lost in thought as he was, he didn’t notice the man’s return until he spoke.

      ‘Your father would be proud of you too, I think. Tubruk says you saved him when he was exhausted at the end, and with you injured as well. I would be proud if my son were as strong.’

      Tears came unbidden to Gaius’ eyes and he turned away so the other would not see them. This was not the time to be breaking apart, not when the estate was in a shambles and the winter feed all burned. He tried to busy himself with the details, but he felt helpless and alone and the tears came more strongly, as his mind touched again and again on his loss, like a bird pecking at weeping sores.

      ‘Ho there!’ came a voice from outside the main gate.

      Gaius heard the cheerful tone and composed himself. He was the head of the estate, a son of Rome and his father, and he would not embarrass the old man’s memory. He walked the steps to the top of the wall, barely aware of the phantom images that came rushing at him. Those were all from the dark. In the sun the shadows had little reality.

      At the top, he looked down on the bronze helmet of a slim officer on a fine gelding that pawed the ground restlessly as it waited. The officer was accompanied by a contubernium of ten legionaries. Each man appeared alert and smartly turned out. The officer looked up and nodded to Gaius. He was around forty, tanned and fit-looking.

      ‘We saw your smoke. Came to investigate in case it was more of the slaves on the rampage. I see you’ve had trouble here. My name is Titus Priscus. I am a centurion with Sulla’s legion, who have just blessed the city with their presence. My men are ranging the countryside hereabouts, on clean-up and execution detail. May I speak to the master of the estate?’

      ‘That would be me,’ Gaius said. ‘Open the gates,’ he called below.

      Those words achieved what all the marauders of the night before could not and the heavy gates were pulled open, allowing the men entry.

      ‘Looks like you had it rough out here,’ Titus said, all trace of cheerfulness gone from his voice and manner. ‘I should have known from the pile of bodies, but … did you lose many of your own?’

      ‘Some. We held the walls. How is the city?’ Gaius was at a loss as to what to say to the man. Was he meant to make polite conversation?

      Titus dismounted and gave the reins to one of his men.

      ‘Still there, sir, although hundreds of wooden houses went up and there are a few thousand dead in the streets. Order has been restored for the moment, though I can’t say it would be safe to stroll out after dark. At the moment, we’re rounding up all the slaves we can find and crucifying one in ten to make an example – Sulla’s orders – on all the estates near Rome.’

      ‘Make it one in three if they’re on my land. I’ll replace them when things have settled. I don’t like the thought of letting anyone who fought against me last night go without punishment.’

      The centurion looked at him for a second, unsure.

      ‘Begging your pardon, sir, but are you able to give that order? You’ll excuse me checking, but, in the circumstances, is there anyone to back you?’

      For a second, anger flared in Gaius, but then he remembered what he must look like to the man. There had been no opportunity to clean himself up after Lucius and Cabera had restitched and rebandaged his wounds. He was dirty and bloodstained and unnaturally pale. He didn’t know that his blue eyes were also rimmed with red from the oily smoke and crying and that only something in his manner kept a seasoned soldier like Titus from cuffing the boy for his insolence. There was something, though, and Titus couldn’t have said exactly what it was. Just a feeling that this young man was not someone to cross lightly.

      ‘I would do the same in your position. I will fetch my estate manager, if the doctor is finished with him.’ Gaius turned away without another word.

      It would have been politeness to offer the men refreshment, but Gaius was annoyed that he had to summon Tubruk to establish his bona fides. He left them waiting.

      Tubruk was at least clean and dressed in good, dark clothing. His wounds and bandages were all concealed under his woollen tunic and bracae – leather trousers. He smiled as he saw the legionaries. The world was turning the right way up again.

      ‘Are you the only ones in this area?’ he asked without preamble or explanation.

      ‘Er, no, but …’ Titus began.

      ‘Good.’ Tubruk turned to Gaius. ‘Sir, I suggest you have these men send out a message that they will be delayed. We need men to get the estate back in order.’

      Gaius kept his face as straight as Tubruk’s, ignoring Titus’ expression.

      ‘Good point, Tubruk. Sulla has sent them to help the outlying estates, after all. There is much work to be done.’

      Titus tried again. ‘Here, now look …’

      Tubruk noticed him once more. ‘I suggest you take the message yourself. These others look fit enough for a little hard labour. Sulla won’t want you to abandon us to our wreckage, I’m sure.’

      The two men faced each other and Titus sighed, reaching up to remove his helmet.

      ‘Never let it be said that I shirked a job of work,’ he muttered. Turning to one of the legionaries, he jerked his head back to the fields. ‘Get back out and join up with the other units. Spread the word that I’ll be held up here for a few hours. Any slaves you find – tell them one in three, all right?’

      The man