"Iggulden, Conn - Emperor 3 - The Field of Swords" - читать интересную книгу автора (Iggulden Conn)

"As you say, you will know in time. My word is good."
Julius came to a decision and his frown cleared.
"Very well, Adрn. Go up to my rooms and fetch me the papers from the desk. I will dictate a letter to you and judge your hand. Then your time is your own to say goodbye to your family. We leave for Rome in three days."

CHAPTER 7

Brutus vomited helplessly over the side into the heaving sea.
"I'd forgotten about this," he said miserably.
Ciro could only moan in reply as the last cups of wine they'd taken in Valentia came surging back. The wind gusted and blew some of the foul liquid spattering over both of them. Brutus froze in disgust.
"Move away from me, you ox," he shouted over the gale. Though his stomach was empty, the painful spasms began again, and he winced at the bitterness in his mouth.
The clouds had swept in from the east as the Spanish mountains sank behind them. The ships had scattered before the storm, forced away from each other. Those with oars kept some semblance of control, though the rolling decks had the long blades completely out of the water on one side and then another. The merchants who depended on their sails were trailing sea anchors, great bundles of canvas and spars to slow their progress and give the heavy rudders something to work against. It was little help. The storm brought the darkness early and they lost sight of each other, every ship suddenly alone to fight the waves.
Brutus shivered at the stern as another wild roll brought water over the side in a great rush of whiteness. He gripped the rail hard as it frothed around his knees and then poured away. The oars slapped and skipped over the mountains of dark water and Brutus wondered whether they would strike land in a sudden crash.
The blackness was absolute and even a few paces from him he could barely make out Ciro's bulk. He heard the big man moan softly and Brutus closed his eyes, just wanting it all to stop. He'd been fine until they cleared the coast and the big rolling waves sent them heeling over. Then the sickness had begun with a bout of belching and the sudden urge to head for the rail. He'd known enough to aim out over the stern, though the men below had not had that luxury. Packed tight as they were in the hold, it was a scene from nightmares.
The small part of his mind that could think of anything except his discomfort realized they would have to anchor off Ostia for a day or two before going in, if only to wash the ship down and restore the polish to the Tenth. If they reached port at that moment, the dockworkers would think they were refugees from some terrible battle.
Brutus heard a step behind him. "Who's that?" he asked, craning his head forward to make out the man's features.
"Julius," came a cheerful voice. "I have water for you. It'll give you something to bring up, at least."
Brutus smiled weakly, accepting the skin and pressing the bronze pipe to his lips. He swilled and spat twice before allowing some of the liquid to trickle down his throat. Ciro took it from him then and gulped noisily.
Brutus knew he should be asking about the men or the course they were cutting to take them between Sardinia and Corsica, but he simply couldn't bring himself to care. His head felt heavy with sickness and he could only manage to wave an apologetic hand to Julius before he was hanging over the rail again. It was almost worse when he wasn't vomiting. Then there was nothing to do but give way to it.
All three of them staggered as the ship rolled at a frightening angle and something fell with a clatter in the hold. Julius lost his footing on the slippery deck and was saved by grabbing Ciro's arm. He pulled in a deep, appreciative breath.
"I have missed this," he said to them. "Out of sight of land in the dark." He leaned closer to Ciro.
"You're on the late watch with me tomorrow. The stars will take your breath away when the storm blows itself out. The sickness never lasts more than a day, or two at most."
"I hope so," Ciro managed doubtfully. As far as he was concerned, Julius was pushing the bounds of friendship by being so obscenely cheerful while they waited for death to take them. He would give a month's pay for just a single hour of calm to settle his stomach. Then he could face anything, he was sure.
Julius worked his way around the rail to speak to the captain. The merchant had settled into surly acceptance of his new role, even going so far as to speak to the soldiers as they packed onto his ship. He'd warned them to have one hand for the ship and the other to save themselves at all times.
"If you go over," he'd told the legionaries, "that's the end of you. Even if I turn back, and I won't, a man's head is almost impossible to spot even when the sea is calm. If there's a bit of wind, you might as well suck in a lungful and go under. It'll be faster that way."
"Are we on course, Captain?" Julius asked as he came up to the dark figure, hunched against the wind in heavy oilcloth.
"We'll know if we hit Sardinia, but I've made the run enough times," the captain replied. "The wind is coming from the southeast and we're running across it."
Julius couldn't see his features in the pitch dark, but the voice didn't seem worried. When the first gales had slapped at the ship, the captain had lashed the steering oars down to a few degrees of arc and taken his post, occasionally shouting orders to the crew as they moved invisibly around the deck.
With the railing at his back, Julius swayed with the roll, enjoying himself immensely. His time on Accipiter with Gaditicus as captain seemed a lifetime before, but if he let his mind drift he could almost have been back there, on a different sea in the dark. He wondered if Ciro ever thought of those times. They'd gambled their lives on countless occasions in the hunt for the pirate who had destroyed the little ship.
Julius closed his eyes as he thought of the ones who had died in the chase. Pelitas in particular had been a good man, now long gone. Everything had seemed so simple then, as if his path were waiting for him. Now there were more choices than he wanted. If he found a seat as consul, he could stay in Rome or take his legion to a new land anywhere in the world. Alexander had done it before him. The boy king had taken his armies east into the rising sun, to lands so distant they were little more than legends. Part of Julius wanted the wild freedom he had known in Africa and Greece. No one to persuade or answer to, just a new path to cut.
He smiled in the dark at the thought. Spain was behind them and all his worries and routines and meetings were lifted from his shoulders with the storm.
As he leaned against the rail, a patter of footsteps brought another one out to lose his last meal. Julius heard Adрn's exclamation as he found the way blocked by Ciro and swore in frustration.
"What is this, an elephant? Make room, heavy one!" the young Spaniard snapped and Ciro chuckled weakly, pleased at the chance to share his misery with another.
Rain began to fall in torrents, and somewhere ahead, a spike of lightning made them all jerk round at the sudden brightness.
Unseen, Julius raised his hands in a silent prayer to welcome the storm. Rome was somewhere ahead and he felt more alive than he had for years.

The rain poured from the dark sky over the city. Though Alexandria tried to take comfort from her two guards, she found that she was frightened as night fell early under the clouds. Without the sun, the streets emptied quickly as families barred their doors and lit the evening lamps. The stones of the roads were quickly lost under a slow-moving tide of filth that swirled and clutched at her feet. Alexandria almost slipped on a hidden cobble and grimaced at the thought of getting it on her hands.
There were no lights on the streets and every dark figure out in them looked threatening. The gangs of raptores would be looking for easy victims to rape and rob, and Alexandria could only hope Teddus and his son would put them off.
"Stay close, miss. Not long now," Teddus said from ahead of her.
She could barely make out his shape as he limped along, but the sound of his voice helped to steady her fear.
The wind carried the smell of human excrement in a sudden, ripe gust, and Alexandria had to swallow quickly as she gagged. It was difficult not to be afraid. Teddus was far from his best years and an old injury to his leg gave him a staggering gait that looked almost comical. His sullen son almost never spoke and she didn't know if she could trust him.
As they moved through the empty street, Alexandria could hear the doors she passed being bolted with grunts as families made themselves secure. The good people of Rome had no protection from the gangs, and only those with guards dared the city after dark.
A huddled group appeared at a corner ahead of them, shadows that watched the three figures and made Alexandria shudder. She heard Teddus draw his hunting knife. They would either have to cross the street or go through the group, and she controlled the urge to run. She knew she would die if she broke away from her guards, and only that thought held her steady as they approached the corner. Teddus's son moved to her side, brushing her arm but bringing no feeling of safety.
"We're nearly home," Teddus said clearly, more for the benefit of the men at the corner than Alexandria, who knew the streets as well as he did. He sounded unworried, and kept the long blade at his side as they moved past them. It was too dark to see their faces, but Alexandria could smell the dampness of wool and sour garlic. Her heart thudded as a shadow jarred her shoulder, making her stumble. Teddus's son guided her away with his sword hand, showing them the blade as he did. They didn't move and Alexandria could feel the threatening stares as the moment hung in the balance. One slip and they would attack, she was sure, her heart beating at painful speed.
Then they were through and Teddus took her arm in a tight grip, his son on the other side.
"Don't look back at them, miss," Teddus muttered softly.
She nodded, though she knew he couldn't see her. Were they following, trotting behind them like wild dogs? She ached to look over her shoulder, but Teddus bore her on through the streets, pulling her away. His limp was getting worse and his breath was labored with pain as they left the corner behind. He never spoke of it, but his right leg had to be rubbed with liniment each night just to hold his weight in the morning.
Above them, the rain pounded on the roofs of houses packed with people who knew better than to be out on the streets after dark. Alexandria risked a glance behind, but could see nothing and wished she hadn't. Anger stirred in her then. The Senate did not have to fear as she did. They never moved without armed guards and the raptores avoided them, recognizing the presence of a greater threat than they could deal with. The poor had no such protection, and even in the daylight there were thefts and sudden skirmishes in the streets that left one or two dead and the rest walking stiffly away, knowing they would not be caught or even chased.
"We're nearly there, miss," Teddus said again, this time meaning it.
She heard the relief in his voice and wondered what would have happened if the group had drawn their knives. Would he have died for her, or left her to the mercy of the gang? It was impossible to know, but she calculated the cost of hiring another guard to join them. And who would watch him?
Another two turnings brought them to her own street. The houses were larger than the maze they had walked through, but the slurry of filth was thicker if anything, swollen by the rain. She grimaced as a splash of it reached up under her stola to her knee. Another pair of sandals ruined. The leather would never smell clean again, no matter how often she soaked them.