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

The air in the dining hall was thick with the heat of bodies as Julius took his seat at the long table. Though linen covered its length, Julius could not resist running a hand underneath to feel the rough new wood. It had not been there when he'd arrived that morning, and he smiled to himself at the energy of Mark Antony and the legion carpenters.
He asked Mhorbaine to sit on his right hand, and the Gaul took his place with obvious pleasure. Julius liked the man and wondered how many of the others would be friends or enemies in the years to come.
The men at his table were a mixed group, though all of them shared features as if their ancestors had sprung from the same tribe. They had hard faces, as if carved from pine. Many were bearded, though there was no style that dominated the gathering, and Julius saw as many mustaches and shaved skulls as there were beards and long braids dyed red at the roots. In the same way, there was no pattern to their clothes or armor. Some wore silver and gold brooches that he knew would fascinate Alexandria, while others were bare of any ornament. Julius saw Brutus eyeing an ornate clasp on Mhorbaine's cloak and decided to bargain for a few fine pieces to give to her when they next saw Rome. He sighed at the thought, wondering when he would sit with his own people at a long table and hear their beautiful language rather than the throaty expectoration of the Gauls.
When they were all seated, Julius motioned for Adрn to stand at his side and rose to address the chieftains. For such an important meeting, he'd banished the elderly interpreter back to his tribe.
"You are welcome in my land," Julius said, waiting for Adрn to echo the words in their own language. "I believe you know I prevented the Helvetii cutting through my province and that of the Aedui. I did this at Mhorbaine's request and I use it to show my good faith to you."
While Adрn translated, Julius watched their responses. It was an odd advantage to be removed from them by that one step. The pauses gave him the chance to marshal his arguments and see how they went across while the eyes of the Gauls were on Adрn.
"The people of Rome do not live in constant fear of enemy attack," he continued. "They have roads, trade, theaters, bathing houses, cheap food for their families. They have clean water and laws that protect them."
He saw from the expressions around the table that he was on the wrong track with his description. These were not men to care about the luxuries given to those they ruled.
"More importantly," Julius went on quickly, as Adрn struggled over a word, "the leaders of Rome have vast lands and homes ten times the size of this small fort. They have slaves to tend their needs and the finest wines and horses in the world."
A better reaction.
"Those of you who become my allies will come to know all of that. I intend to bring the roads of Rome farther into Gaul and trade with the farthest recesses of the land. I will bring the biggest market in the world here for your goods."
One or two of the men smiled and nodded, but then a young warrior stood and all the Gauls looked to him, becoming still. Julius could feel Brutus bristle on his left. There was nothing unusual in the figure who faced Julius twenty feet away. The Gaul wore his beard short and his blond hair tied back in a club on his neck. Like many of the others, he was a short, powerful figure dressed in wool and worn leather. Yet, despite his youth, the Gaul looked arrogantly around at the gathered representatives of the tribes. His face was badly scarred and cold blue eyes seemed to mock them all.
"And if we refuse your empty promises?" the man said.
As Adрn translated, Mhorbaine rose at Julius's side.
"Sit down, Cingeto. You want another enemy to add to your list? When did your father's people last know peace?"
Mhorbaine spoke in his own language and the young Gaul responded far too quickly for Adрn to follow. The two men roared at each other across the table, and Julius swore he would learn their language. He knew Brutus was already studying it and he would join his daily lesson.
Without warning, the yellow-haired warrior stormed away from the table, slamming the door open to the outside. Mhorbaine watched him go with narrowed eyes.
"Cingeto's people would rather fight than eat," Mhorbaine said. "The Arverni have always been that way, but do not let it trouble you. His elder brother, Madoc, has less of a temper, and it is he who will wear his father's crown."
The exchange had clearly worried Mhorbaine, but he forced a smile onto his face as he looked at Julius.
"You must ignore the rudeness of the boy. Not everyone feels as Cingeto does."
Julius called for the plates of beef and mutton to be brought in from the fire pits, glistening with oil and herbs. He tried to hide his surprise as they were followed with heaped platters of fresh bread, sliced fruit, and roasted game birds. Mark Antony had been busier than he realized.
The awkward pause after Cingeto's departure disappeared in the clatter of plates. The chieftains fell to with a will, each man bringing out his own knife to slice and spear the hot food. Finger bowls of fresh water were used to dilute the wine, to the surprise of the servants, who quickly refilled them. Julius understood that the chieftains did not want to lose their wits in drunkenness, and on reflection, he tipped his own water bowl into his wine cup as well. Brutus and Octavian followed his example with a private grin between them.
A sudden crash from outside the hall brought two of the guests half to their feet. Julius rose with them, but Mhorbaine remained in his seat, frowning.
"That will be Artorath, my guard. He will have found some men to wrestle by now." Another crash and grunt punctuated his words and he sighed.
"The big man?" Julius asked, amused.
Mhorbaine nodded. "He becomes bored too easily, but what can you do with family? My father raided the Arverni for his mother when he was really too old for such activities. Cingeto's people do not forgive, though they take their own wives in the same way when they can."
"The women must be very unhappy with such an arrangement," Julius said slowly, trying to understand.
Mhorbaine laughed aloud. "They are if we take the wrong one in the dark. You'll never hear the end of it then. No, Julius, when the tribes meet at the Beltane festival for barter and trade, there are a lot of matches made. You might even enjoy seeing it one year. The women make their wishes clear to the young warriors, and it's a grand adventure trying to steal them away from their people. I remember my wife fought me like a wolf, but she never called for help."
"Why not?" Julius asked.
"She might have been rescued! She was very taken with my beard, I think. Mind you, she pulled a handful of it out while I tried to get her over my shoulders. I had a bald patch for a while, right on the chin."
Julius poured wine for the Gaul and watched as Mhorbaine topped it up with water.
"I've never seen a finger bowl used like this before," Mhorbaine said. "Good idea, though, when the wine is so sharp."

Artorath dropped his weight, shifting his center of balance. Domitius collapsed over him and found himself being lifted into the air. There was a brief sensation of terrifying flight and then the ground connected and Domitius had the wind knocked out of him. He lay groaning while Artorath chuckled.
"You're strong for such a little fellow," he said, though he knew by then that not one of the Romans could understand real words. They did not seem particularly bright to the big Gaul. At first, when he had held up a coin and mimed holds for them, they seemed to think he was insane. Then one of them had come too close and Artorath had flipped him onto his back with a grunt. Their faces had lit up at that and they dug in their pouches for coins to match his own.
Domitius was his fifth opponent for the evening, and though Artorath still went through the routine of biting the silver coins he was given, he thought he could well have enough for a new horse by the time Mhorbaine had finished charming the Roman leader.
Artorath had noticed Ciro standing apart from the others. Their eyes had met only once, but Artorath knew he had him. He relished the challenge and took pleasure from throwing Domitius as close to Ciro's feet as he could.
"Any more?" Artorath boomed at them, pointing to each one and waggling his bushy eyebrows as if he spoke to children. Domitius had pulled himself upright by then and had a mischievous grin on his face. He held up a flat palm in an unmistakable gesture.
"Wait here, elephant. I know the man for you," Domitius said slowly.
Artorath shrugged. As Domitius jogged away into the main buildings, Artorath looked questioningly at Ciro, beckoning him forward and waving a coin in the air with the other hand. To his pleasure, Ciro nodded and began to remove his armor until he stood wearing only a breechcloth and sandals.
Artorath had drawn a ring in the ground with a stick, and he pointed for Ciro to step over the line. He loved to fight big men. Small ones were used to looking up at their opponents, but warriors of Ciro's size had probably never met a man who towered over them as Artorath did. It gave him a great advantage, though the crowd never knew it.
Ciro began to stretch his back and legs and Artorath gave him room, moving swiftly into his own loosening routine. After five bouts, he hardly needed it, but he enjoyed showing off to a crowd and the Roman soldiers were already three deep around the little space. Artorath spun and leapt, enjoying himself immensely.
"Do they say big men are slow where you come from, little soldiers?" he taunted their blank faces. The evening was cool and he felt invincible.
As Ciro stepped into the ring, a voice called out and many of the soldiers grinned in anticipation as Brutus came running back with Domitius.
"Hold, Ciro. Brutus wants a turn before you beat the big ox," Domitius said, panting.
Brutus came to a halt as he caught sight of Artorath. The man was enormous and more heavily muscled than anyone he had ever seen. It was not simply a question of strength, he saw. Artorath's skull was half as large again as Ciro's, and every other bone was thicker than a normal man's.
"You have to be joking," Brutus said. "He must be seven feet tall! You go ahead, Ciro. Don't wait for me."
"I fought him," Domitius said. "Nearly had him over as well."
"I don't believe you," Brutus said flatly. "Where are your marks? One punch from those big fists would put your nose through the back of your head."
"Ah, but he isn't punching. It's like Greek wrestling, if you've ever seen it. He uses his feet to trip you, but the rest is holds and balance. Very skillful, but as I said, I almost had him."