Part 16 (1/2)

The moon had risen, a pale crescent that hung above the ring of torches. Though it was late, the news of the finalists had pa.s.sed quickly across the city and all of Rome was awake and waiting for the result. If he won, Brutus would be famous, and the wry thought occurred to Julius that if his friend stood for consul, he would almost certainly win the seat.

As the cornicens blew their horns, Sung attacked without warning, trying for a win in the first instant. His blade blurred as it whipped out at Brutus's legs and the young Roman batted it aside with a ring of metal. He did not counter and for a moment Sung was left off balance. The sharp slits of his eyes remained impa.s.sive as Sung shrugged and moved in again, his long sword cutting a curve in the air.

Once again, Brutus knocked the blade away and the sound of metal was like a bell that rang out over the silent crowd. They watched in fascination at this last battle that was so different from those that had gone before.

Julius could see the mottle of anger still on Brutus's face and neck and wondered whether he would kill Sung or be killed himself as his mind dwelled on the false win against Salomin.

The bout developed into a series of dashes and clangs, but Brutus had not moved a step from his mark. Where Sung's blade would reach him, it was blocked with a short jab of the gladius. Where the blow was a feint, Brutus ignored it, even when the metal pa.s.sed close enough for him to hear it cut the air. Sung was breathing heavily as the crowd began to raise their voices with each of his attacks, falling silent for the blow and then letting out a hissing gasp that seemed like mockery. They thought Brutus was teaching the man a lesson about Rome.

As Julius watched, he knew Brutus was wrestling with himself alone. He wanted to win almost to desperation, but the shame of Salomin's treatment ate at him and he merely held Sung while he thought it through. Julius realized he was witnessing the display of a perfect swordsman. It was a staggering truth, but the boy he had known had become a master, greater than Renius or any other.

Sung knew it, as sweat stung his eyes and still the Roman stood before him. Sung's face filled with rage and frustration. He had begun to grunt with every blow, and without making a conscious choice, he was no longer striking to take first blood, but to kill.

Julius couldn't bear to watch it. He leaned out over the railing and bellowed across the sand to his friend: ”Win, Brutus! For us, win!”

His people roared as they heard him. Brutus turned Sung's blade on his own, trapping it long enough to hammer his elbow into the man's mouth. Blood spilled visibly over Sung's pale skin and Sung stepped back, stunned. Julius saw Brutus raise his hand and speak to the man and then Sung shook his head and darted in again.

Brutus came alive then and it was like watching a cat startled into a leap. He let the long blade slide along his ribs to get inside the guard and rammed his gladius down into Sung's neck with every ounce of his anger. The blade vanished under the silver armor and Brutus walked away across the sand without looking back.

Sung looked after him, his face twisted. His left hand plucked at the blade as he tried to shout, but his lungs were ribbons of flesh inside him and only a hoa.r.s.e croaking could be heard in the deathly silence.

The crowd began to jeer and Julius felt ashamed of them. He stood and bellowed for quiet, enough to silence those who could hear. The rest followed into a tense stillness as the people of Rome waited for Sung to fall.

Sung spat angrily onto the sand, all color seeping out of his face. Even at a distance, they could hear each heaving breath torn out. Slowly, with infinite care, he unbuckled his armor and let it fall. The cloth underneath was drenched and black in the torchlight, and Sung looked at it in amazement, his dark gaze flickering up at the rows of Romans watching him.

”Come on, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d,” Renius whispered to himself. ”Show them how to die.”

With the precision of agony, Sung sheathed his long sword, and then his legs betrayed him and he dropped to his knees. Still, he looked around at them all and the hard breaths were like screams, each one shorter than the last. Then he fell and the crowd released their breath, sitting like statues of G.o.ds in judgment.

Pompey mopped at his brow, shaking his head. ”You must congratulate your man, Caesar. I have never seen better,” he said.

Julius turned cold eyes on him and Pompey nodded as if to himself, calling for his guards to escort him back to the city walls.

CHAPTER 18.

Bibilus glared in silence as Suetonius paced up and down the long room where he met visitors. Like every part of the house, it was decorated to Bibilus's taste, and even as he watched Suetonius, he took comfort from the simple colors of the couches and gold-capped columns. Somehow, the stark cleanliness never failed to calm him, and on entering any room in the villa, he would know if anything was out of place at a glance. The black marble floor was so highly polished that every step Suetonius took was matched by a colored shadow under his feet, as if he walked on water. They were alone, with even the slaves dismissed. The fire had died long before and the air was cold enough to frost their breath. Bibilus would have liked to call for wine heated with a burning iron, or some food, but he dared not interrupt his friend.

He began to count the turns as Suetonius strode, the tension showing in his tight shoulders and the white-knuckled grip of his hands at his back. Bibilus bore the nightly use of his home with resentment, but Suetonius had a hold over him and he felt bound to listen, even as he grew to despise the man.

Suetonius's hard voice snapped the silence without warning, as if the anger could no longer be held within. ”I swear if I could reach him, I would have him killed, Bibi. By Jupiter's head, I swear it!”

”Don't say it,” Bibilus stammered, shocked. Even in his own house, some words should never be spoken.

Suetonius broke his stride as if he had been challenged, and Bibilus shrank back into his padded couch. Drops of white spittle had gathered at the corners of Suetonius's mouth, and Bibilus stared at them, unable to look away.

”You don't know him, Bibilus. You haven't seen how he plays the part of a n.o.ble Roman, like his uncle before him. As if his family were anything more than merchants! He flatters those he needs, puffing them up in his wake like c.o.c.k birds. Oh, I'll give him that! He is a master at finding those to love him. All built on lies, Bibilus. I have seen it.” He glared at his friend as if waiting to be contradicted.

”His vanity s.h.i.+nes out until I can't believe I am the only one who notices, yet they fall into line for him and call him the young lion of Rome.”

Suetonius spat on the polished floor and Bibilus looked at the wet lump of phlegm with distress. Suetonius sneered, his bitterness making an ugly mask of his features.

”It's all a game to them-Pompey and Cra.s.sus. I saw it when we came back from Greece together. The city was poor, the slaves were on the edge of the greatest rebellion in our history, and they put Caesar up as a tribune. I should have known then I would never see justice. What had he done to deserve it, after all? I was there when we fought Mithridates, Bibi. Caesar was no more the leader than I was, though he played at it. Mithridates practically gave us the victory, but I never saw Julius fight. Did I mention that? I never saw him even draw his sword to help us when the blood was flying.”

Bibilus sighed. He had heard it all before, too many times to count. The rage had seemed justified to him once, but every time he heard the tale of grievances, Caesar became more and more the villain Suetonius wanted him to be.

”And Spain? Oh, Bibi, I know all about Spain. He goes there with nothing and returns with enough gold to run for consul, but do they challenge him? Is he broken by the courts? I wrote to the man who took his place there, and questioned the figures he gave the Senate. I did their work for them, Bibi, those old fools.”

”What did he say?” Bibilus asked, looking up from his hands. This was a new part of the rant and it interested him. He watched as Suetonius searched for words, and hoped he would not spit again.

”Nothing! I wrote again and again and finally the man sent me a curt little note, a warning not to interfere with the government of Rome. A threat, Bibilus, a nasty nasty little threat. I knew then that he was one of Caesar's men. No doubt his hands are as dirty as the man before him. He covers himself well, does Julius, but I'll trap him.” little threat. I knew then that he was one of Caesar's men. No doubt his hands are as dirty as the man before him. He covers himself well, does Julius, but I'll trap him.”

Tired and hungry, Bibilus could not resist a little barb. ”If he becomes consul, he will be immune from prosecution, Suetonius, even for capital crimes. You will not be able to touch him then.”

Suetonius sneered and hesitated before speaking. He remembered watching the dark men heading down to Caesar's estate to murder Cornelia and her servants. Sometimes he thought that memory was all that prevented him from going insane. The G.o.ds had not protected Julius that day. Julius had been sent to Spain with rumors of disgrace, while his beautiful wife had her throat cut. Suetonius thought he had finally conquered his anger then. The death of Cornelia was like a boil bursting in him, with all the poison flowing away.

Suetonius sighed for the loss of that peace. Julius had abused his term in Spain, raping the country of gold. He should have been stoned in the streets, but he had come back and spoken his lies to the simple crowds and won them over. His tournament had spread his name over the city.

”Is there surprise when his friend wins the sword tournament, Bibi? No, they just cheer in their empty-headed way, though anyone with eyes could see that Salomin could barely walk to his mark. That was the true Caesar, the one I know. Right there in front of thousands and they would not see it. Where was his precious honor then?” Suetonius began to pace again, every step clattering against his mirrored image. ”He must not be consul, Bibilus. I will do what I have to, but he must not. You are not my only hope, my friend. You may yet take enough of the century votes to break him, but I will find another way if that is not enough.”

”If you are caught doing something, I-” Bibilus began.

Suetonius waved him to silence.

”Do your own work, Bibilus, while I do mine. Wave to crowds, attend the courts, make your speeches.”

”And if that is not enough?” he asked, fearing the answer.

”Do not disappoint me, Bibilus. You will see it through to the end unless your withdrawal would help my father. Is that too much to ask of you? It is nothing.”

”But what if-”

”I am tired of your objections, my friend,” Suetonius said softly. ”If you like, I can go to Pompey now and show him why you are not fit to stand for Rome. Would you like that, Bibi? Would you like him to know your secrets?”

”Don't,” Bibilus said, tears p.r.i.c.king his eyes. At times like that, he felt nothing but hatred for the man before him. Suetonius made everything sound sordid.

Suetonius approached and cupped his hand under the flesh of his chin.

”Even small dogs can bite, can't they, Bibilus? Would you betray me, I wonder? Yes, of course you would, if I gave you the chance. But you would fall with me, and harder. You know that, don't you?”

Suetonius gripped a jowl between two fingers and twisted. Bibilus s.h.i.+vered with the pain.

”You really are a dirty dirty b.a.s.t.a.r.d, Bibilus. I need you, though, and that binds us better than friends.h.i.+p, better than blood. Don't forget it, Bibi. You could not stand torture and Pompey is known to be thorough.” b.a.s.t.a.r.d, Bibilus. I need you, though, and that binds us better than friends.h.i.+p, better than blood. Don't forget it, Bibi. You could not stand torture and Pompey is known to be thorough.”