The Emperor Series Books 1-4

Renius swayed in the saddle, as if the words were blows. He could feel the hatred and it cheered him up immensely. Laughter threatened to overcome him as the little cockerel made its threats, but he realised he could give a last gift to his pupil, if he chose his words carefully.

‘Such hatred will kill you, boy. And then you won't be there to protect Gaius.’

‘I will always be there for him.’

‘No. Not until you can keep your temper. You will die in some brawl in a stinking bar room, unless you can find calm in yourself. You would have killed me, yes; at my age, my stamina melts faster than I care to admit. But if we had met when I was young, I would have cut through you faster than corn falls to the knife. Remember that the next time you meet a young man with a reputation to make.’ Renius grinned then and it was like seeing the teeth of a shark, lips sliding back over a cruel expression.

‘He may get the chance sooner than you think,’ Cabera said, coming out of the shadows.

‘What? You were listening, you old devil?’ Renius said, still smiling, although his expression eased at the sight of the healer, whom he had come to respect.

‘Look to the city. You will not be going anywhere tonight, I think,’ Cabera continued, his expression serious.

Both Marcus and Renius turned to look out over the hills. Although Rome was hidden by the rise of the land, an orange glow grew brighter as they watched in horror.

‘Jupiter's balls – they've set the city on fire!’ Renius spat. His beloved city.

For a moment, he thought of spurring the horse away, knowing his place should be in the streets. Men knew his face, he could help restore order. A cool hand touched his ankle and he looked down into the face of old Cabera.

‘I see the future occasionally. If you go there now, you will be dead by dawn. This is truth.’

Renius shifted his weight and the gelding clopped its hooves on the sand, feeling his emotions.

‘And if I stay?’ he snapped.

Cabera shrugged. ‘You may die here too. The slaves will be coming to loot this place. We don't have long now.’

Marcus gaped at the words. There were close to five hundred slaves on the estate. If they all went wild, there would be butchery. Without another word, he ran back into the buildings, shouting for Tubruk to raise the alarm.

‘Would you like a hand dismounting from that fine gelding?’ asked Cabera, his eyes wide and innocent.

Renius grimaced, suddenly able to muster his usual anger despite the cheerful old man.

‘The gods don't tell us what is going to happen,’ he said.

Cabera smiled wistfully. ‘I used to believe that. When I was young and arrogant I used to think I could somehow read people, see their true selves and guess at what they would do. It was years before I was humble enough to know it could not be me. It isn't like glancing through a clear window. I just look at you and towards the city and I feel death. Why not? Many men have talents that could almost be magic to those without them. Think of it like that if it makes you more comfortable. Come on. You will be needed here tonight.’

Renius snorted. ‘I suppose you have made a lot of money with this talent of yours?’

‘Once or twice I have, but money does not stay with me. It steals out into the hands of wine merchants and loose women and gamblers. All I have is my experiences, but they are worth more than coin.’

After a few moments of thought, Renius accepted the helping hand and was not surprised to find it steady and strong, not after seeing those skinny shoulders pull the heavy bow in the training yard.

‘You will have to hold my scabbard for me, old man. I will be all right when my sword is out.’ He began to lead the horse back into the stables, stroking its nose and murmuring that they would ride later, when all the excitement was over. He paused for a moment.

‘You can see the future?’

Cabera grinned and hopped from one foot to the other, amused.

‘You want to know if you will live or die here, yes?’ he chattered. ‘That is what everyone asks.’

Renius found his usual sourness coming back in force.

‘No. I don't think I do want to know that. Keep it to yourself, magician.’ He led the horse away without looking back, his shoulders showing his irritation.

When he had gone, Cabera's face filled with grief. He liked the man and was pleased to find that a sort of decency still resided in his heart, despite the fame and money he had won in his life.

‘Perhaps I should have let you go and wither with the other old men, my friend,’ he muttered to himself. ‘You might even have found happiness somewhere. Yet if you had left, the boys would have been surely killed, so this is a sin I can live with, I think.’ His eyes were bleak as he turned to the great gates of the estate outer wall and began to push them closed. He wondered if he too would die in this foreign land, unknown in his own. He wondered if his father's spirit was close by and watching and decided that it probably wasn't. His father at least had the sense not to sit in the cave and wait for the bear to come home.

Galloping hoof-beats sounded in the distance. Cabera held the main gate open as he watched the approaching figure. Was it the first of the attackers, or a messenger from Rome? He cursed his vision that allowed him such fragmentary glimpses into the future, and never anything that involved himself. Here he was holding the door for the rider, so he had had no warning. The clearest visions were those in which he wasn't involved at all, which was probably meant to be a lesson from the gods – one rather wasted on him, on the whole. He had found that he could not live life as an observer.

A tail of dark dust followed the figure, barely showing in the gloom of the gathering twilight.

‘Hold the gate!’ a voice commanded.

Cabera raised an eyebrow. What did the man think he was doing

Gaius' father Julius came thundering through the opening. His face was red and his rich clothes were stained with soot.

‘Rome is on fire,’ he said as he jumped to the ground. ‘But they will not get my home.’ In that moment, he recognised Cabera and patted his shoulder in greeting.

‘How is my son?’

‘Doing well. I am …’ Cabera tailed off, as the vigorous older version of Gaius strode away to organise the defences. Tubruk's name echoed around the internal corridors of the estate.

Cabera looked puzzled for a moment. The visions had changed a little – the man was a force of nature and might just be enough to tip the balance in their favour.

His mind went blank again as he heard the shouts rise in the fields. Muttering in frustration, Cabera climbed the steps up to the estate wall, to use his eyes where his internal vision had failed.

Darkness filled every horizon, but Cabera could see pinpoint pricks of light moving in the fields, meeting and multiplying like fireflies. Each would be a lamp or a torch held by angry slaves, their blood warmed by the heat of the sky over the capital. They were already marching towards the great estate.

CHAPTER EIGHT (#ulink_7545f00a-b553-526d-9d3a-bc9a15c270db)

All the house servants and slaves stayed loyal. Lucius the estate doctor unwrapped his bandages and materials, spreading vicious-looking metal tools on a piece of cloth on one of the wide kitchen tables. He collared two of the kitchen boys as they were grabbing cleavers to help in the battle.

‘You two stay with me. You'll get your fill of cutting and blood right here.’ They were reluctant, but Lucius was more of an old family friend and his word had always been law to them before. The lawlessness that was rife in Rome had not yet spread to the estate.

Outside, Renius had everyone in the yard. Grimly, he counted them. Twenty-nine men and seventeen women.

‘How many of you have been in the army?’ his voice rapped.

Six or seven hands rose.

‘You men have priority for swords. The rest of you go and find anything that will cut or crush. Run!’

The last word shocked the frightened men and women out of their lethargy and they scattered. Those who had already found weapons remained, their faces dark and full of fear.

Renius walked up to one of them, a short, fat cook with an enormous cleaver resting on his shoulder. ‘What's your name?’ he said.