The Emperor Series Books 1-5. Conn Iggulden

to his feet, but still holding his side in pain. Tani patted him on the shoulder, stooping smoothly to pick up the fallen discus. He returned to his spot to throw again.

      ‘Anyone racing horses today?’ Marcus asked.

      A few turned and weighed him up, casting gazes at the sturdy little pony Tubruk had chosen for him.

      ‘Not so far. We came to watch the wrestling, but it finished an hour ago.’ The speaker indicated a trampled space nearby where a square had been marked out on the grassy ground. A few men and women stood in clusters nearby, talking and eating.

      ‘I can wrestle,’ Gaius broke in quickly, his face lighting up. ‘We could have our own competition.’

      The group murmured interest. ‘Pairs?’

      ‘All at once – last one standing is the winner?’ Gaius replied. ‘We need a prize, though. How about we all put in what money we have and last one standing takes the collection?’

      The boys in the crowd discussed this and many began to search in their tunics for coins, giving them to the largest, who walked with confidence as the pile of coins grew in his hands.

      ‘I’m Petronius. There’s about twenty quadrantes here. How much have you got?’

      ‘Any coins, Marcus? I have a couple of bronze bits.’ Gaius added them to the boy’s handful and Marcus added three more.

      Petronius smiled as he counted again. ‘A fair collection. Now, as I’m taking part, I’ll need someone to hold it for me until I win.’ He grinned at the two newcomers.

      ‘I’ll hold it for you, Petronius,’ a girl said, accepting the coins into her smaller hands.

      ‘My sister, Lavia,’ he explained.

      She winked at Gaius and Marcus, a smaller but still stocky version of her brother.

      Chatting cheerfully, the group made their way over to the marked square and only a few remained on the outside to watch. Gaius counted seven other boys in addition to Petronius, who began limbering up confidently.

      ‘What rules?’ Gaius said as he stretched his own legs and back.

      Petronius gathered the group together with a gesture. ‘No punching. If you land on your back you are out. All right?’

      The boys agreed grimly, the mood becoming hostile as they eyed each other.

      Lavia spoke from the side: ‘I’ll call start. All ready?’

      The contestants nodded. Gaius noted that a few other people were wandering over, always ready to view or bet on a contest in whatever form. The air smelled cleanly of grass and he felt full of life. He scuffed his feet and remembered what Tubruk had said about the soil. Roman earth, fed with the blood and bones of his ancestors. It felt strong under his feet and he set himself. The moment seemed to hold, and nearby he could see Tani the discus champion spin and release again, his discus flying high and straight over the Campus Martius. The sun was reddening as it sank, giving a warm cast to the tense boys in the square.

      ‘Begin!’ Lavia shouted.

      Gaius dropped to one knee, spoiling a lunge that went over his head. He shoved up then, with all the strength of his thighs, taking another boy off his feet and leaving him flat on the dusty grass. As Gaius rose, he was hammered from the side, but spun as he fell so that his unknown attacker hit the ground first, with Gaius’ weight knocking the wind from him.

      Marcus was locked in a grip with Petronius, their hands tight on each other’s armpits and shoulders. Another struggling combatant was shoved blindly into Petronius and the pair fell roughly, but Gaius’ moment of inattention was punished by an arm circling his neck from behind and tightening on his windpipe. He kicked out backwards and raked his sandals down someone’s shin, hacking back with an elbow at the same time. He felt the grip loosen but then they were both sent sprawling by a knot of fighting boys. Gaius hit the ground hard and scrambled to get to the side of the square, even as a foot clouted into his cheek, splitting the skin.

      Anger swelled for a moment, but he saw his attacker hadn’t even registered him and he retired to the edge of the square, cheering on Marcus, who had regained his feet. Petronius was down and out, knocked cold, and only Marcus and two others were still in the competition. The crowd that had gathered to watch were yelling encouragement and making side bets. Marcus grabbed one of the pair by the crotch and neck and tried to lift him into the air for throwing. The boy struggled wildly as his feet came off the ground and Marcus staggered with him just as the last gripped him around his own chest and knocked him over backwards in a heaving pile of limbs.

      The stranger came to his feet with a whoop and took a circuit of the square with his hands held high. Gaius could hear Marcus laughing and breathed deeply in the summer air as his friend stood up, brushing off the dust.

      In the middle distance, beyond the vast Campus, Gaius could see the city, built on seven ancient hills centuries before. All around him were the shouts and cries of his people and underneath his feet, his land.

      In hot darkness, lit only by a crescent moon that signalled the month coming to a close, the two boys made their way in silence over the fields and paths of the estate. The air was filled with the smell of fruit and flowers and crickets creaked in the bushes. They walked without speaking until they reached the place where they had stood with Tubruk earlier in the day, at the corner of the peg-marked line of a new field.

      With the moon giving so little light, Gaius had to feel along the twine until he came to the broken spot at the corner and then he stood and drew a slim knife from his belt, taken from the kitchens. Concentrating, he drew the sharp blade across the ball of his thumb. It sank in deeper than he had intended and blood poured out over his hand. He passed the blade to Marcus and held the thumb high, slightly worried by the injury and hoping to slow the bleeding.

      Marcus drew the knife along his own thumb, once, then twice, creating a scratch from which he squeezed a few swelling beads of blood.

      ‘I’ve practically cut my thumb off here!’ Gaius said irritably.

      Marcus tried to look serious, but failed. He held out his hand and they pressed them together so that the blood mingled in the darkness. Then Gaius pushed his bleeding thumb into the broken ground, wincing. Marcus watched him for a long moment before copying the action.

      ‘Now you are a part of this estate as well and we are brothers,’ Gaius said.

      Marcus nodded and in silence they began the walk back to the sprawling white buildings of the estate. Invisibly in the darkness, Marcus’ eyes brimmed and he wiped his hand over them quickly, leaving a smear of blood on his skin.

      Gaius stood on the top of the estate gates, shading his eyes against the bright sun as he looked towards Rome. Tubruk had said his father would be returning from the city and he wanted to be the first to see him on the road. He spat on his hand and ran it through his dark hair to smooth it down.

      He enjoyed being up away from the chores and cares of his life. The slaves below rarely looked up as they passed from one part of the estate buildings to another and it was a peculiar feeling to watch and yet be unobserved: a moment of privacy and quiet. Somewhere, his mother would be looking for him to carry a basket for her to collect fruit, or Tubruk would be looking for someone to wax and oil the leather harness of the horses and oxen, or a thousand other little tasks. Somehow, the thought of all those things he was not doing raised his spirits. They couldn’t find him and he was in his own little place, watching the road to Rome.

      He saw the dust trail and stood up on the gatepost. He wasn’t sure. The rider was still far away, but there weren’t too many estates that could be reached from their road and the chances were good.

      After another few minutes he was able to see the man on the horse clearly and let out a whoop, scrambling to the ground in a rush of arms and legs. The gate itself was heavy, but Gaius threw his weight against it and it creaked open enough for him to squeeze through and run off down the road to meet his father.

      His child’s