Emperor: The Blood of Gods (Special Edition) (Emperor Series, Book 5) by Conn Iggulden
Authors: Conn Iggulden
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stunned, barely holding the figure of wax. He flinched as Mark Antony reached over and yanked a fold of the purple toga over the figure’s head, so that the face was covered.
‘Caesar would not look at them after that. He sat as Brutus approached and they continued to stab and tear at his flesh.’
He held his dark blade poised over the heart and many in the crowd were weeping, men and women together as they waited in agony for the last blow. The moaning sound had grown so that it was almost a wail of pain.
‘Perhaps he did not feel the final blade; we cannot
know
.’
Mark Antony was a powerful man and he punched the blade up where the ribs would have been, sinking it to the hilt and cutting a new hole in the ragged cloth. He left the blade there, for all to see.
‘Set it down, Oppius,’ he said, panting. ‘They have seen all I wanted them to see.’
Every pair of eyes in the crowd moved to follow the torn figure as it was laid down on the platform. The common people of Rome visited no theatres with the noble classes. What they had witnessed had been one of the most powerful scenes of their lives. A sigh went around the forum, a long breath of pain and release.
Mark Antony gathered slow-moving thoughts. He had pushed the crowd and ridden them, but he had judged it well. They would go from this place in sombre mood, talking amongst themselves. They would not forget his friend, and the Liberatores would be followed by scorn all their lives.
‘To think,’ he said, his voice gentle, ‘Caesar saved the lives of many of the men who were there, in Pompey’s theatre, on the Ides of March. Many of them owed their fortunes and their positions to him. Yet they brought him down. He made himself first in Rome, first in the world, and it did not save him.’
His head came up when a voice yelled out in the crowd.
‘
Why should they live?
’
Mark Antony opened his mouth to reply, but a dozen other voices answered, shouting angry curses at the murderers of Caesar. He held up his hands for calm, but the lone voice had been a spark on dry wood and the noise spread and grew until there were hundreds and hundreds pointing to the senate house and roaring out their rage.
‘Friends, Romans, countrymen!’ Mark Antony bellowed, but even his great voice was swallowed. Those further back pushed forward mindlessly and the centurions were battered by fists and heaving bodies.
‘That’s it,’ one of the centurions growled, shoving back with all his strength to give himself room to draw a gladius. ‘Time to get away. On me, lads. Surround the consul and stay calm.’
Yet the crowd were not rushing the consul’s platform. They surged towards the senate house and the now empty steps.
‘Wait! They will hear me yet. Let me speak!’ Mark Antony shouted, shoving past a centurion trying to guide him down the steps.
A stone soared from somewhere further back, hammering a dent in an ornate chestplate and sending a senior man staggering. The crowd were levering up the cobblestones of the forum. The centurion who had taken the impact was on his back, gasping for breath as his companions cut the leather ties that bound him into his armour.
‘Too late for that, Consul,’ Oppius snapped. ‘I just hope this is what you wanted. Now move, sir. Or will you stand and see us all killed?’
More of the black stones flew. Mark Antony could see movements in the crowd, swirling and shoving like patterns in water. There were thousands of angry men in that forum and many of the weaker ones would be trampled to death before their anger gave out. He swore under his breath.
‘My feelings exactly, sir,’ Oppius said grimly. ‘But it’s done now.’
‘I can’t leave the body,’ Mark Antony said desperately. He ducked as another stone came past him and he saw how quickly the chaos was spreading. There was no holding them back now and he felt a sudden fear that he would be swept away.
‘Very well. Get me clear.’
He could smell smoke
‘Caesar would not look at them after that. He sat as Brutus approached and they continued to stab and tear at his flesh.’
He held his dark blade poised over the heart and many in the crowd were weeping, men and women together as they waited in agony for the last blow. The moaning sound had grown so that it was almost a wail of pain.
‘Perhaps he did not feel the final blade; we cannot
know
.’
Mark Antony was a powerful man and he punched the blade up where the ribs would have been, sinking it to the hilt and cutting a new hole in the ragged cloth. He left the blade there, for all to see.
‘Set it down, Oppius,’ he said, panting. ‘They have seen all I wanted them to see.’
Every pair of eyes in the crowd moved to follow the torn figure as it was laid down on the platform. The common people of Rome visited no theatres with the noble classes. What they had witnessed had been one of the most powerful scenes of their lives. A sigh went around the forum, a long breath of pain and release.
Mark Antony gathered slow-moving thoughts. He had pushed the crowd and ridden them, but he had judged it well. They would go from this place in sombre mood, talking amongst themselves. They would not forget his friend, and the Liberatores would be followed by scorn all their lives.
‘To think,’ he said, his voice gentle, ‘Caesar saved the lives of many of the men who were there, in Pompey’s theatre, on the Ides of March. Many of them owed their fortunes and their positions to him. Yet they brought him down. He made himself first in Rome, first in the world, and it did not save him.’
His head came up when a voice yelled out in the crowd.
‘
Why should they live?
’
Mark Antony opened his mouth to reply, but a dozen other voices answered, shouting angry curses at the murderers of Caesar. He held up his hands for calm, but the lone voice had been a spark on dry wood and the noise spread and grew until there were hundreds and hundreds pointing to the senate house and roaring out their rage.
‘Friends, Romans, countrymen!’ Mark Antony bellowed, but even his great voice was swallowed. Those further back pushed forward mindlessly and the centurions were battered by fists and heaving bodies.
‘That’s it,’ one of the centurions growled, shoving back with all his strength to give himself room to draw a gladius. ‘Time to get away. On me, lads. Surround the consul and stay calm.’
Yet the crowd were not rushing the consul’s platform. They surged towards the senate house and the now empty steps.
‘Wait! They will hear me yet. Let me speak!’ Mark Antony shouted, shoving past a centurion trying to guide him down the steps.
A stone soared from somewhere further back, hammering a dent in an ornate chestplate and sending a senior man staggering. The crowd were levering up the cobblestones of the forum. The centurion who had taken the impact was on his back, gasping for breath as his companions cut the leather ties that bound him into his armour.
‘Too late for that, Consul,’ Oppius snapped. ‘I just hope this is what you wanted. Now move, sir. Or will you stand and see us all killed?’
More of the black stones flew. Mark Antony could see movements in the crowd, swirling and shoving like patterns in water. There were thousands of angry men in that forum and many of the weaker ones would be trampled to death before their anger gave out. He swore under his breath.
‘My feelings exactly, sir,’ Oppius said grimly. ‘But it’s done now.’
‘I can’t leave the body,’ Mark Antony said desperately. He ducked as another stone came past him and he saw how quickly the chaos was spreading. There was no holding them back now and he felt a sudden fear that he would be swept away.
‘Very well. Get me clear.’
He could smell smoke
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