Emperor: The Blood of Gods (Special Edition) (Emperor Series, Book 5) Read Free Page B

climbed and skidded down, wrinkling his nose in distaste. The scabbard of his sword caught in a crevice and Maecenas swore as he freed it. His expression darkened as he heard Agrippa laugh behind him.
    ‘I am glad to provide some amusement for you, Agrippa,’ he snapped. ‘The pleasures of this day are now complete.’
    Agrippa gave a tight smile without replying as he came level and then went past, using his great strength and size to take enormous steps down the crag. The fleet centurion was a head taller than his companions and the constant labour on board Roman galleys had only increased the power in his arms and legs. He made the climb look easy and was still breathing lightly by the time he reached the bottom. Octavian was a few steps behind and the pair waited for Maecenas as he clambered down after them.
    ‘You realise we’ll have to go back up that hill again when we turn round?’ Maecenas said as he jumped the last few feet.
    Octavian groaned. ‘I don’t want to argue with you, Maecenas. It would be easier if you just accepted we are doing this.’
    ‘Without complaining,’ Agrippa added. His deep voice echoed back from the stone all around them and Maecenas looked sourly at them both.
    ‘There are a thousand different paths through these cursed rocks,’ Maecenas said. ‘I should think the bandits are far away from here by now, sipping cool drinks while we die of thirst.’
    Gleefully, Agrippa pointed at the dusty ground and Maecenas looked down, seeing the footprints of many men.
    ‘Oh,’ he said. He drew his sword in a smooth motion, as if he expected an immediate attack. ‘Probably local herders, though.’
    ‘Perhaps,’ Octavian replied, ‘but we’re the only ones following this path, so I would like to be sure.’ He too drew his gladius, shorter than Maecenas’ duellist’s blade by a hand’s breadth, but well oiled, so that it slid free with barely a whisper. He could feel the heat of the blade.
    Agrippa freed his own sword and together the three men walked silently into the canyon ahead, placing their steps with caution. Without planning it, Octavian took the lead, with Agrippa’s bulk on his right shoulder and Maecenas on his left. Ever since they had become friends, Octavian had led the group as if there were no alternative. It was the kind of natural confidence Maecenas appreciated and recognised. Old families had to start somewhere, even when they began with a Caesar. He smiled at the thought, though the expression froze as they came round a spire of rock and saw men waiting for them in the shadows. Octavian walked on without a jerk, keeping his sword lowered. Three more steps brought him into the gloom of the chasm, with rock walls stretching up above their heads. He came to a halt, looking coldly at the men in his way.
    There was another path out on the other side and Maecenas noticed laden mules waiting patiently. The men they faced did not seem surprised or afraid, perhaps because there were eight of them, staring with bright-eyed interest at the three young Romans. The biggest of the men raised a sword from another age, a great length of iron that was more like a cleaver than anything else. He sported a black beard that reached right down to his chest and Maecenas could see the bulge of heavy muscles under a ragged jerkin as he moved. The man grinned at them, revealing missing teeth.
    ‘You are a very long way from your friends,’ the man said in Greek.
    Maecenas knew the language, though Octavian and Agrippa spoke not a word. Neither of them looked round with so many blades being pointed in their direction, but Maecenas could feel their expectation.
    ‘Must I translate?’ he said, dredging up the words from his memory. ‘I know the high speech, but your peasant accent is so thick, I can hardly understand you. It is like the grunting of a dying mule. Speak slowly and clearly, as if you were apologising to your master.’
    The man looked at him in surprise, anger darkening