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

To the fleeing thieves, it seemed as if fully armed cavalry sprang out of the ground at them. The seven men panicked completely, either throwing themselves flat or raising their hands in instant surrender. Octavian drew his sword, holding their eyes. Their leader watched him in resignation, turning his head to spit into the long grass.
"Come on, then. Get it over with," he said.
Despite his apparent fatalism, the thief was fully aware of the positions of the riders and only relaxed when every avenue of retreat had been blocked. He had heard a man could outrun a horse over a short distance, but looking at the glossy mounts of the extraordinarii, it didn't seem likely.
When the last few blades had been taken from the men, Octavian unstrapped his helmet from the saddle and put it on. The plume waved gently in the breeze, adding to his height and giving him a forbidding aspect. He thought it was well worth the portion of his pay that had gone to buy it. Certainly the raptores all looked to him now, waiting grimly for the order to cut them down.
"I don't expect charges could ever be brought against your master," Octavian said.
The leader spat again. "Don't know any master, soldier, except maybe silver," he said, his face suddenly cunning as he sensed something was up.
"It would be a shame if he escaped without even a good beating, don't you think?" Octavian asked innocently.
The raptores nodded, even the slowest beginning to realize the order to kill wasn't going to come.
"I can find him again, if you let us go," their leader said, trying not to hope. There was something terrifying about horses to a man who had grown up in the city. He had never quite understood how big they were before and shuddered as one snorted behind him.
Octavian tossed a small pouch into the air and the man caught it, feeling the weight automatically before making it disappear inside his tunic.
"Do a professional job," Octavian said, backing his horse to leave a gap for the men to pass. A couple of them tried to salute as they walked through the riders and began to make their way back to the city. None of them dared look back.

Before the last centuries had voted, Julius knew he and Bibilus had won seats as consuls for the year to come. He was reminded of the motions of bees as senators clustered around both of them, and he grinned at Bibilus's bemused expression.
Julius had his shoulder gripped and his hand taken by scores of men he barely knew, and before he had fully understood the change in his status, he was fielding questions and requests for his time and even being told of opportunities to invest. In their role as the formal "Comitia Centuriata," the citizens of Rome had created two new bodies for the city to suck dry, and Julius felt overwhelmed and irritated by the attention. Where had these smiling supporters been when he was campaigning?
In comparison with the shallow heartiness of the Senate, having Pompey and Crassus congratulate him was a genuine pleasure, particularly as he knew Pompey would rather have eaten glass than say the words. Julius shook the offered hand without a sign of relish, his mind already on the future. No matter whom the people had elected to lead the Senate, the outgoing consuls were still a force in the city. Only a fool would scorn them at the moment of triumph.
The magistrate climbed onto a small platform to dismiss the last centuries. They bowed their heads as he bellowed a prayer of thanks at them, finishing with the traditional order, "Discedite!"
The citizens did as they were told and scattered, laughing and joking as they began the walk back to the sealed city.
Suetonius and his father had paid their respects and Julius had spoken warmly to them, knowing it was a chance to mend the bridges broken in the campaign and the past. He could afford the gesture and Prandus seemed to accept his good wishes, bowing slightly to the consul-elect of Rome. His son Suetonius had looked straight through him, his face blank with defeat.
Pompey's men had brought horses and Julius looked up as reins were passed into his hand. From the back of a gray gelding, Pompey looked down at him, his expression unreadable.
"It will be hours before the Senate sit again to confirm the postings, Julius. If you ride with us now, we will have the Curia to ourselves."
Crassus leaned down on his horse's neck to speak more privately. "Will you trust me one more time?"
Julius looked up at both men, sensing the subtle tension in them as they waited for his response. He didn't hesitate, swinging himself up into the saddle and raising an arm to those in the crowd who were watching the exchange. They cheered him as he wheeled and set off across the vast field with the two other men, a century of Pompey's cavalry falling in behind as their escort. The crowd parted before them and their shadows stretched behind.

CHAPTER 20

Without the voting centuries, the city was strangely empty as the three men rode through the streets. Julius was reminded of the night of the storm when he had gone down into the cells of the prison house and seen the tortured figures of Catiline's men. He glanced at Crassus as they dismounted before the Senate house, and the old man raised his eyebrows, guessing at the reason for the attention.
Julius had never before entered the Senate house without its being filled with men on the benches. It echoed extraordinarily, reflecting each footstep as they took seats together near the rostrum. The door had been left open and the sun shone in as a bar of gold, making the marble walls feel light and airy. Julius leaned back against the hard wooden bench with a sense of vast satisfaction. His election was just beginning to sink in and he could barely resist grinning to himself at the thought.
"Crassus and I thought we might all benefit from a private conversation before the Senate sits," Pompey began. He stood and began to pace as he spoke. "Leaving aside the flowery words for the public, we three have little friendship between us. There is respect, I hope, but no great liking." He paused and Crassus shrugged. Julius said nothing.
"If we do not come to some arrangement for next year," Pompey went on, "I expect it to be a wasted time for the city. You saw the influence Suetonius has over Bibilus. The whole Senate has heard his bleating complaints about you over the years. Together, they will delay or frustrate anything you propose until nothing can be done. It would not be good for Rome."
Julius looked up at the man, remembering when he had first met him, in that very hall. Pompey was a superb tactician on the field and in the Senate, but both he and Crassus were facing the loss of the power and respect they enjoyed. That was the real reason for the private meeting, rather than any concern for the best use of Julius's consular year. A deal was certainly possible, if he could find terms that would satisfy them all.
"I have already given the matter some thought," Julius said.

Suetonius rode back to the stables of the inn near the gates, where he had taken a room for the day of the election. His father had hardly spoken to him and only nodded when Suetonius had offered his condolences for the loss. Senator Prandus had eaten quickly and in silence before making his way up to the room above, leaving his son to drown his own frustration in cheap wine.
The door to the tavern opened and Suetonius looked up, hoping it was Bibilus come to join him. No doubt his friend was back at his palatial home in the center of the city, being massaged by attractive slaves without a care in the world. Suetonius had not yet begun to consider the implications of Bibilus as consul. His first, panicky thought was that the consular immunity would remove the hold he had over the man, but he dismissed that as soon as he thought of it. Immune or not, Bibilus would be terrified of his habits becoming generally known in the city. Perhaps there could even be benefits to having his fat friend leading the Senate. It was not what he had planned, but having a consul at his bidding could be interesting. Suetonius resolved blearily to visit his home and remind Bibilus of their relationship.
The man who entered was a stranger and Suetonius ignored him after the first glance. He was too drunk to be startled when the man cleared his throat and spoke.
"Sir, the stable boy says there is a problem with your horse. He thinks it has taken a thorn in the hoof."
"I'll have him flogged if it has," Suetonius snapped, rising too quickly. He barely noticed the steadying hand on his shoulder as he was guided out of the inn into the darkness.
The night air did something to remove the fog of wine from his thoughts, and he pulled away from the arm that held him as he entered the low stables. There were men there, too many to be looking after the horses. They grinned at him as a cold panic settled his heaving blood.
"What do you want? Who are you?" Suetonius blustered.
The leader of the raptores stepped out from the shadows, and Suetonius fell back at the man's expression.
"Just a job to me, this, though I always give value if I can," he said, strolling toward the young Roman.
Suetonius was held tightly by both arms even as he began to struggle, and a hand was clamped over his mouth.
The leader flexed his hands menacingly.
"Snuff the lamps, lads. I don't need light for this," he said, and in the sudden darkness there came the thud of heavy blows.

Julius wished he had slept the night before. His weariness weighed on him, but now, of all times, he needed to be sharp to deal with the two men.
"Together, you still command enough support in the Senate to force anything through."
"Unless there is a consular veto," Pompey replied immediately.
Julius shrugged. "Do not consider it. I will deal with Bibilus when the time comes."
Pompey blinked at him as Julius continued.