Brutus spoke to smooth the moment over. ‘If we start holding ships tonight, how long before we have enough to move the Tenth?’
Julius nodded his head a fraction in thanks. ‘A month at most. I have already sent word that we need captains for a large cargo. I think no more than thirty ships will be enough to land at Ostia. The Senate would never let me approach Rome with the whole legion as it is, so I’ll need a camp at the coast. I’ll take the gold with me on that first trip. We have enough for what I have in mind.’
Servilia watched them argue and wrangle as the sun set behind them. They barely noticed the guard enter the room to light more lamps. After a while, she left to begin her own arrangements, the night air of the yard making her feel alive after the heat of the room.
She could still hear their voices as she walked across the yard and saw the gate sentries stiffen as they saw her.
‘Is it true we’re going to Rome, madam?’ one of them said as she passed him. It came as no surprise to find the man had heard a rumour. Some of her best information in Rome came from the lower ranks.
‘It’s true,’ she said.
The man smiled. ‘It’s about time,’ he said.
When the Tenth moved, they moved quickly. Ten of the largest ships in Valentia port had guards preventing their escape within a day of the meeting in the long room. To the fury of the merchant captains, their precious cargoes were unloaded and left in the warehouses on the docks to make more room for the vast stores of equipment and men that made up a legion.
The gold at the fort was crated and taken out to the ships, with fully armed centuries attending every foot of the journey. The forges of the swordmakers were dismantled and tied on huge wooden pallets that took teams of oxen to lift into the dark holds. The great war ballistae and onagers were reduced to spars and the heavy ships sank lower and lower in the sea as they were filled. They would need the highest tide to sail out of the harbour and Julius set the day exactly one month after he had made the formal announcement. If all went well, they would reach Rome just over a hundred days before the consular elections.
The quaestor Julius had promoted was ambitious and Julius knew he would work like a slave to keep his new post. There would be no loss of discipline in the provinces when the Tenth had gone. The quaestor brought two cohorts to the east under Julius’ orders, some of them local men who had joined the Roman forces years before. It was enough of a force to keep the peace, and Julius took pleasure from the fact that the problem was no longer his.
There were a thousand things to organise before the ships could throw their lines from the dockside and move out to sea. Julius pushed himself to exhaustion, sleeping only one night in two, at best. He met with local leaders from all over the country to explain what was happening and the gifts he left them ensured their aid and blessing.
The quaestor had been quietly amazed when Julius told him how productive the new mines had become during his term. They had toured them together and the man took the opportunity to secure a loan from the coffers of the Tenth to be paid back over five years. No matter who ended up in the position of praetor, the debt would stand. The mines would be developed and no doubt part of the new wealth would be declared. Not before the post was made permanent, Julius thought wryly. It would not do to excite the hunger of men like Crassus in Rome.
As Julius walked out into the courtyard, he had to shade his eyes against the fierce sun. The gates were open and the fort had a vacant feel that reminded him of the village with the statue of Alexander. It was a strange thought, but the new cohorts were expected the following dawn and the fort would come back to life then.
In the glare, he did not see the young man standing by the gate, waiting for him. Julius was crossing to the stables and was jerked out of his reverie as the man spoke. His hand dropped to his gladius in reflex.
‘General? Do you have a moment?’ the man said.
Julius recognised him and narrowed his eyes. His name was Adàn, he remembered, the one he had spared.
‘What is it?’ he said impatiently.
Adàn approached him and Julius kept his hand near his hilt. He didn’t doubt he could handle the young Spaniard, but there could be others and he had lived long enough not to drop his guard too easily. His eyes scanned the gate, watching for moving shadows.
‘The Mayor, Del Subió, told me you need a scribe, sir. I can read and write Latin.’
Julius looked at him suspiciously. ‘Did Del Subió mention the fact that I am about to leave for Rome?’ he asked.
Adàn nodded. ‘Everyone knows it. I would like to see the city, but I do want the work.’
Julius looked him in the eye, weighing him. He trusted his instincts and he could sense nothing hidden in the man’s open face. Perhaps the young Spaniard was telling the truth, though Julius couldn’t help but suspect his motives with the legion about to set sail.
‘A free trip to Rome, then you disappear in the markets, Adàn?’ he said.
The young man shrugged. ‘You have my word. I can offer nothing else. I work hard and I want to see more of the world. That is all.’
‘Why come to work for me, though? It wasn’t long ago you had Roman blood on your hands.’
Adàn coloured, but raised his head, refusing to be cowed. ‘You are an honourable man, General. While I would rather Rome did not lay its hand on my people, you made me curious. You would not regret hiring me, I swear it.’
Julius frowned at him. The man seemed unaware of the danger of his words. He remembered the way he had stood before Julius’ men in the long room, struggling to control his fear.
‘I must be able to trust you, Adàn, and that will come only with time. What you hear from me will be worth money to those who pay for information. Can you be trusted to keep my business secret?’
‘As you say, you will know in time. My word is good.’
Julius came to a decision and his frown cleared.
‘Very well, Adàn. 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.’
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