The Emperor Series Books 1-5. Conn Iggulden

accusations. For a while she had hoped he would have an affair and she had told him that she would even accept a child from such a union as her own.

      He had taken her head tenderly in his hands and kissed her softly. ‘There is only you, Metella,’ he had said. ‘If fate has taken this one pleasure from us, I won’t spit in her eye.’

      She had thought she would never be able to stop the sobs that pulled at her throat. Finally he had lifted her up and taken her to bed where he was so gentle she cried once more, at the end. He had been a good husband, a good man.

      She reached over to the side of the pool without opening her eyes. Her fingers found the thin iron knife she had left there. One of his, given after his century had held a hill fort for a week against a swarming army of savages. She gripped the blade between two fingers and guided it blindly down to her wrist. She took a deep breath and her mind was numb and filled with peace.

      The blade cut and the strange thing was it didn’t really hurt. The pain was a distant thing, almost unnoticed as her inner eye relived old summers.

      ‘Marius.’ She thought she’d said the name aloud, but the room was still and silent and the blue water had turned red.

      Cornelia frowned at her father.

      ‘I will not leave here. This is my home and it is as safe as anywhere else in the city at the moment.’

      Cinna looked about him, noting the heavy gates that blocked off the town house from the street outside. The house he had given as her dowry was a simple one of only eight rooms, all on one floor. It was a beautiful home, but he would have preferred an ugly one, with a high brick wall around it.

      ‘If a mob comes for you, or Sulla’s men, looking to rape and destroy …’ His voice shook with suppressed emotion as he spoke, but Cornelia held firm.

      ‘I have guards to handle a mob and nothing in Rome will stop Sulla if the First-Born cannot,’ Cornelia replied. Her voice was calm but, inside, doubts nagged at her. True, her father’s home was built like a fortress, but this belonged to her and to Julius. It was where he would look for her, if he survived.

      Her father’s voice rose almost to a screech. ‘You haven’t seen what the streets are like! Gangs of animals looking for easy targets. I couldn’t go out myself without my guards. Many homes have been set on fire, or looted. It is chaos.’ He rubbed his face with his hands and his daughter saw that he hadn’t shaved.

      ‘Rome will come through it, Father. Didn’t you want to move out to the country when the riots were going on a year ago? If I had left then, I would not have met Julius and I would not be married.’

      ‘I wish I had left!’ Cinna snapped, his voice savage. ‘I wish I had taken you away then. You would not be here, in danger, with …’

      She stepped closer to him and put her hand out to touch his cheek.

      ‘Calm, Father, calm. You will hurt yourself with all your worries. This city has seen upheavals before. It will pass. I will be safe. You should have shaved.’

      There were tears in his eyes and she stepped into a crushing hug.

      ‘Gently, old man. I am delicate now.’

      Her father straightened his arms, looking at her questioningly.

      ‘Pregnant?’ he asked, his voice rough with affection.

      Cornelia nodded.

      ‘My beautiful girl,’ he said, gathering her in again, but carefully.

      ‘You will be a grandfather,’ she whispered into his ear.

      ‘Cornelia,’ he said. ‘You must come now. My house is safer than this. Why take such a risk? Come home.’

      The word was so powerful. She wanted to let him take her to safety, wanted very much to be a little girl again, but could not. She shook her head, smiling tightly to try to take away the sting of rejection.

      ‘Leave more guards if it will make you feel happy, but this is my home now. My child will be born here and when Julius is able to return to the city he will come here first.’

      ‘What if he has been killed?’

      She closed her eyes against the sudden stab of pain, feeling tears sting under the lids.

      ‘Father, please … Julius will come back to me. I … I am sure of it.’

      ‘Does he know about the child?’

      She kept her eyes closed, willing the weakness to pass. She would not start sobbing, though part of her wanted to bury her head in her father’s chest and let him carry her away.

      ‘Not yet.’

      Cinna sat on a bench next to a trickling pool in the garden. He remembered the conversations with the architect when he had been readying the house for his daughter. It seemed such a long time ago. He sighed.

      ‘You defeat me, girl. What will I tell your mother?’

      Cornelia sat next to him. ‘You will tell her that I am well and happy and going to give birth in about seven months. You will tell her that I am preparing my home for the birth and she will understand that. I will send messengers to you when the streets are quiet again and … that we have enough food and are in good health. Simple.’

      Her father’s voice was cracking slightly as he tried to find a note of firmness. ‘This Julius had better be a good husband to you – and a good father. I will have him whipped if he isn’t. Should have done it when I heard he was running about on my roof after you.’

      Cornelia wiped a hand over her eyes, pressing the worry back inside her. She forced herself to smile. ‘There’s no cruelty in you, Father, so don’t try and pretend there is.’

      He grimaced, and the silence stretched for long moments.

      ‘I will wait another two days and then I will have my guards take you home.’

      Cornelia pressed a hand on her father’s arm. ‘No. I am not yours any more. Julius is my husband and he will expect me to be here.’

      Then the tears could no longer be held back and she began to sob. Cinna pulled her to him and embraced her tightly.

      Sulla frowned as his men raced to secure the main streets, which would give them access to the great forum and the heart of the city. After the first bloody scramble, the battle for Rome had gone well for him, with area after area taken with quick, brutal skirmishes and then held against an enemy in disarray. Before the sun had risen fully, most of the lower east quarter of Rome was under his control, creating a large area in which they could rest and regroup. Then tactical problems had arisen. With his controlled areas expanding in a line, he had fewer and fewer men to hold the border and knew he was always in danger from any sort of attack that massed men against a section where his were spread thinly.

      Sulla’s advance slowed and orders flowed ever more swiftly from him, moving units around, or making them hold. He knew he had to have a secure base before he asked for any kind of surrender. After Marius’ last words to them, Sulla accepted that there was a chance his soldiers would fight to the last man – their loyalty was legendary even in a system where such loyalty was fostered and nurtured. He had to make them lose hope and a slowing advance would not do that.

      Now he was standing in an open square at the top of the Caelius hill. All the massed streets behind him back to the Caelimontana gate were his. The fires had been put out and his legion were entrenched from there all the way to Porta Raudusculana at the southern tip of the city walls.

      In the small square were nearly a hundred of his men, split into groups of four. Each man had volunteered and he was touched by it. Was this what Marius felt when his men offered their lives for him?

      ‘You have your orders. Keep moving and cause havoc. If you are outnumbered, get away until you can attack again. You are my luck and the luck of the legion. Gods speed you.’

      As one,