Emperor: The Blood of Gods

Octavian tensed his jaw defiantly and it was Agrippa who decided enough was enough.

‘His name is Gaius Octavian Thurinus, a relative of Caesar. He speaks the truth.’

The tribune digested the information with a thoughtful expression.

‘I believe I have heard that name. And you?’

‘Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa, sir. Centurion Captain of the fleet, sir.’

‘I see. Well, gentlemen, a ring from Caesar has won you a place at my table, at least for an hour. Have you eaten?’

Agrippa shook his head, dumbfounded at the sudden change in manner.

‘I’ll order for you when the tavern-keeper wakes up. Gracchus? Throw a bucket of slops on him … and spend a moment or two teaching him that stealing has consequences, if you wouldn’t mind. I’ll need to find a new inn tomorrow.’

‘Yes, sir,’ the legionary responded. He had recovered his dignity and looked with satisfaction on the unconscious figure sprawled beneath the bar.

‘Come, gentlemen,’ the tribune said, gesturing back to his table and his still-seated companion. ‘You have my attention. I hope you don’t regret it.’

Tribune Liburnius placed the ring on the table before them as Octavian and Agrippa pulled up chairs. He did not introduce his companion and Octavian wondered if he was a client or perhaps a spy for the tribune. The man met his eyes briefly, revealing a flash of interest and intelligence before looking away.

The tribune looked up at the sound of a bucket clattering to the ground and a stifled cry from behind the bar.

‘I’m sure the wine will be here in a moment or two,’ he said. He reached out and held the ring once more, turning it in his hands. ‘This is a dangerous little thing these days. I wonder if you realise that?’

‘I’m beginning to,’ Octavian said, touching a hand to a swelling lump by his right eye.

‘Hah! Not thieves. There is far more danger in those who are struggling even now to keep a grip on the mother city. We’re out of it here in Brundisium. If I have my way, we will remain so until order is re-established. Yet Greece is further still, so perhaps this is all news to you.’

Octavian blinked. ‘How did you know I came from Greece?’

To his surprise, Liburnius chuckled, clearly delighted.

‘By the gods, you really are young! Honestly, it makes me nostalgic for my own youth. You truly think you can come into this port, throwing silver coins around and demanding to speak to senior men, without it being reported? I dare say every rumour-monger in the city has your description by now, though perhaps not your name, not yet.’

Octavian flicked a glance at the tribune’s silent companion and the man sensed it, smiling slightly without looking up.

‘Your presence is an interesting problem for me, Octavian. I could have you sent in chains to Rome, of course, for some senator to dispose of as he sees fit, but that would gain me just a favour, or a few gold coins, hardly worth my trouble.’

‘You have no loyalty then?’ Octavian demanded. ‘The Fourth Ferrata was formed by Caesar. You must have known him.’

Tribune Liburnius looked at him, biting the inside of his lower lip in thought.

‘I knew him, yes. I cannot say we were friends. Men like Caesar have few friends, I think, only followers.’ Liburnius drummed his fingers on the table as he considered, his eyes never leaving Octavian.

The drinks arrived, brought by the tavern-keeper. The man was a bedraggled mess, his face swollen and one eye half shut. There was a piece of green vegetable in his hair. He did not look at Octavian or the tribune as he placed a jug and cups carefully and departed, limping. The legionary, Gracchus, took up his position once more, facing out.

‘And yet …’ Liburnius said softly. ‘The will of Caesar has not been read. He had a boy with the Egyptian queen, but they say he loved you also like a son. Who knows what Caesar’s gift might mean to you, when we hear? It could be that you are the horse to back, at least for now. Perhaps we can come to some arrangement, something that benefits us both.’

The fingers drummed again and the tribune’s companion poured for all of them. Octavian and Agrippa exchanged glances, but there was nothing to do but remain silent.

‘I think … yes. I could have documents drawn up. A tenth of whatever you inherit, against my time and funds getting you to Rome and my support securing whatever you are owed. And leaving you alive and unflogged, of course. Shall we shake hands on it? You will need that ring to seal the agreement, so you may have it back.’

Octavian gaped at him. After a moment’s hesitation, he reached out and snatched up the ring, working it onto his finger.

‘It was never yours to return,’ he said. ‘A tenth! I would have to be insane to agree to such a bargain, especially before I know how much is at stake. My answer is no. I have funds enough to find my own way. I have friends enough to stand against the men who killed him.’

‘I see,’ Liburnius said, wryly amused at the young man’s anger. Drops of wine had spilled on the ancient table and he drew circles with them on the wood as he thought. He shook his head and Octavian gripped the edge of the table, ready to shove it over and run.

‘I don’t think you understand how perilous Rome has become, Octavian. How do you think the Liberatores will react if you enter the city? If you charge into the senate house, demanding and blustering, as if you had a right to be heard? I give you half a day at most, before you are found with your throat cut, perhaps not even that long. The men of power will not want some relative of Caesar inflaming the mob. They will not want a claimant on his wealth that would otherwise find its way into their hands. Are you going to tip this table over, by the way? Do you think I am blind or a fool? My guards would cut you down before you could stand up.’ He shook his head ruefully at the rashness of the young. ‘Mine is the best offer you will receive today. At least with me, you will live long enough to hear the will read.’

Octavian removed his hands from the table, sitting with his thoughts racing. The tribune was a real threat and he realised he could not get out of the tavern without losing something. He wondered what Julius would have done in his place. Tribune Liburnius watched him closely, a smile lifting the corners of his thin mouth.

‘I will not sign away my inheritance, or any part of it,’ Octavian said. Liburnius tutted to himself and raised his eyes to the guards to give an order. Octavian went on quickly, ‘But I was there when Caesar and Cleopatra bargained with the Egyptian court. I can offer more than gold in exchange for your support. You can be useful to me, I will not deny it. It is why I sought you out in the first place.’

‘Go on,’ Liburnius said. His eyes were cold, but the smile still remained.

‘I saw Caesar give favours that men valued far more than coins. I can do that. I will put his ring to an agreement that offers you a single favour, whatever you wish, at any point in my life.’

Liburnius blinked and then gave a great bark of laughter, slapping the table with his palm. When he settled, he wiped a tear from his eye, still chuckling.

‘You are a joy to me, lad. I cannot fault you for the entertainment. It was looking to be such a dull day as well. You know, I have a son about your age. I wish he had a pair like yours, I really do. Instead, he reads Greek philosophy to me; can you imagine? It is all I can do not to vomit.’

Liburnius leaned forward on the table, all sign of humour vanishing.

‘But you are not Caesar. As things stand in Rome, I would not lay a silver coin on you surviving a year. What you have offered me is almost certainly worthless. As I say, I applaud your courage, but let us end this game.’

Octavian leaned forward as well, his voice clear and low.

‘I am not Caesar, but he did love me as a son and the blood of his family runs in me. Take what I have offered and one day, when your fortunes have changed for the worse, or those of your son, perhaps then my promise will be the most valuable thing you own.’

Liburnius made a fig hand quickly to avert even the suggestion of an evil fate in store for him. He shoved his thumb between the first and second fingers of his right hand and pointed it at Octavian. After a pause, he unclenched his hand and let it fall to the table.

‘With that promise and ten thousand in gold, I will have ten thousand in gold,’ he muttered.

Octavian shrugged. ‘I cannot promise what I don’t have,’ he said.

‘That is why I asked you for a tenth, boy. You cannot lose by such an arrangement.’

Octavian knew he should have agreed, but something stubborn in him still refused. He folded his arms.

‘I have said all there is to say. Accept my favour and one day it could save your life. If you remember Caesar, consider how he would want you to act.’ Octavian looked up at the ceiling of the tavern. ‘He died at the hands of men who now live well. If he can see us now, will he see you treat me with honour or disdain?’

He waited for an answer and Liburnius drummed his fingers on the wood, the only sound in the tavern. For an instant, his eyes flickered upward, as if he too was imagining Julius watching.

‘I can’t decide if you don’t understand … or you just don’t care to preserve your life,’ he said. ‘I have met a few like you in my time, young officers mostly, with no sense of their own mortality. Some rose, but most of them are long dead, victims of their own overconfidence. Do you understand what I am saying to you?’

‘I do. Gamble on me, Tribune. I will not be brought down easily.’