The Emperor Series Books 1-5. Conn Iggulden

what is good for the city, regardless of the parentage.’

      ‘Are your supporters from the new men?’ Gaius asked.

      Marius shook his head. ‘Strangely enough, no. They are often too wary of being seen to side with one of their own. Many of them support Sulla, but those who follow me are as often high-born as they are new wolves in the fold. The people’s tribunes make a great show of being untouched by politics and take each vote as they find it, although they can always be depended on to vote for cheaper corn or more rights for the slaves. With their veto, they can never be ignored.’

      ‘Could they prevent my acceptance then?’

      Marius chuckled. ‘Take off the worried look. They do not vote in internal matters, such as new members, only in city policy. Even if they did, it would be a brave man to vote against me with my legion standing thousands deep in the forum outside. Sulla and I are consuls – the supreme commanders of all the military might of Rome. We lead the Senate, not the other way around.’ He smiled complacently and called for wine, having the full cup handed to him.

      ‘What happens if you disagree with the Senate, or with Sulla?’ Gaius asked.

      Marius snorted into his wine cup.

      ‘All too common. The people elect the Senate to make and enforce the laws – and to build the empire. They also elect the other, more senior posts: aediles, praetors and consuls. Sulla and I are here because the people voted for us and the Senate do not forget that. If we disagree, a consul may forbid any piece of legislation and its passage stops immediately. Sulla or I have only to say, “Veto” – I forbid it – as the speeches begin and that is the end for that year. We can also block each other in this way, although that does not happen often.’

      ‘But how does the Senate control the consuls?’ Gaius pressed, interested.

      Marius took a deep draught of the wine and patted his stomach, smiling.

      ‘They could vote against me, even remove me from office in theory. In practice, my supporters and clients would prevent any such vote going through, so for the whole year, a consul is almost untouchable in power.’

      ‘You said a consul was only elected for one year and has to step down,’ Gaius said.

      ‘The law bends for strong men, Gaius. Each year, the Senate clamours for an exception to be made and I should be re-elected. I am good for Rome, you see – and they know it.’

      Gaius felt pleased at the quiet conversation, or as quiet as the general ever managed, at least. He understood why his father had been wary of the man. Marius was like summer lightning – it was impossible to tell what he would strike next – but he had the city in the palm of his hand for the moment and Gaius had discovered that was where he too wanted to be: at the centre of things.

      They could hear the roar of Rome long before they reached the gates. The sound was like the sea, a formless, crashing wave that engulfed them as they halted at the border tower. City guards approached the golden carriage and Marius stood to receive them. They too were polished and perfectly turned out and they had a formal air.

      ‘Give your name and state your business,’ one said.

      ‘Marius, general of the First-Born. I am here. I will hold a Triumph on the streets of Rome.’

      The man flushed a little and Marius grinned.

      ‘You may enter the city,’ the guard said, stepping back and waving the gate open.

      Marius leaned close to Gaius as he sat down again.

      ‘Protocol says I have to ask permission, but this is too fine a day to be polite to guards who couldn’t cut it in the legions. Take us in.’ He signalled and again the horns blew all down the line. The gates opened and the crowd peered around, roaring in excitement. The noise crashed out at the legion and Marius’ driver had to snap the reins sharply to make the horses move on.

      The First-Born entered Rome.

      ‘You must get out of bed now if you want to be ready in time to see the Triumph! Everyone says it will be glorious and your father and mother are already dressed and with their attendants while you lie and drowse!’

      Cornelia opened her eyes and stretched, careless of the covers falling away from her golden skin. Her nurse, Clodia, busied herself with the window hangings, parting them to air the room and letting sunshine spill in.

      ‘Look, the sun is high and you are not even dressed. It is shameless to find you without clothes. What if I was a male, or your father?’

      ‘He wouldn’t dare come in. He knows I don’t bother with nightclothes when it’s hot.’

      Still yawning, Cornelia rose naked from her bed and stretched like a cat, arching her back and pressing her fists into the air. Clodia crossed to the bedroom door and dropped the locking bar in case someone looked in.

      ‘I suppose you’ll be wanting a dip in the bath before you dress,’ Clodia said, affection spoiling the attempt at a stern tone.

      Cornelia nodded and padded through to the bathing room. The water steamed, reminding her that the rest of the house had been up and working since the first moments of dawn. She felt vaguely guilty, but that dissolved in the soothing heat as she swung a leg over the side and climbed in, sighing. It was a luxury she enjoyed, preferring not to wait until the formal bathing session later in the day.

      Clodia bustled in after her, carrying an armful of warm linen. She was never still, a woman of immense energy. To a stranger, there was nothing in her dress or manner to indicate her slavery. Even the jewels she wore were real and she chose her clothes from a sumptuous wardrobe.

      ‘Hurry! Dry yourself with these and put on this mamillare.’

      Cornelia groaned. ‘It binds me too tightly to wear on hot days.’

      ‘It will keep your breasts from hanging like empty bags in a few years.’ Clodia snorted. ‘You’ll be pleased enough to have worn it then. Up! Out of that water, you lazy thing. There’s a glass of water on the side to clean your mouth.’

      As Cornelia dabbed her body dry, Clodia laid out her robes and opened a series of small silver boxes of paint and oils.

      ‘On with this,’ she said, dropping a long white tunic over Cornelia’s outstretched arms. The girl shrugged herself into it and sat at the single table, propping up an oval bronze mirror to see herself.

      ‘I would like my hair to be curled,’ she said wistfully, holding a lock of it in her fingers. It was a dark gold, but straight for all its thickness.

      ‘Wouldn’t suit you, Lia. And there’s no time today. I should think your mother is already finished with her ornatrix and will be waiting for us. Simple, understated beauty is what we’re after today.’

      ‘A little ochre on the lips and cheeks then, unless you want to paint me with that stinking white lead?’

      Clodia blew air out of her lips in irritation.

      ‘It will be a few years before you need to conceal your complexion. What are you now, seventeen?’

      ‘You know I am, you were drunk at the feast,’ Cornelia replied with a smile, holding still while the colour was applied.

      ‘I was merry, dear, just as everybody else was. There is nothing wrong with a little drink in moderation, I have always said.’ Clodia nodded to herself as she rubbed in the colours.

      ‘Now a little powdered antimony around the eyes to make men think they are dark and mysterious and we can start on the hair. Don’t touch it! Hands to yourself, remember, in case you smudge.’

      Swiftly and dextrously, Clodia parted the dark-gold hair and gathered it into a chignon at the back, revealing the slender length of Cornelia’s neck. She looked at the face in the mirror and smiled at the effect.

      ‘Why your father hasn’t found a man for you, I will never know. You’re certainly