Emperor: The Field of Swords Read Free Page A

holding it in the crook of his elbow to fill his cup. In his anger, some of it splashed onto the floor.
        Julius narrowed his eyes slightly at the old gladiator. He took a slow breath to control the temper that swelled in him.
        “I will not be Sulla, or Cato. Do you understand that at least, Renius? I will not rule with fear and hatred and taste every meal for poison. Do you understand that ?” His voice had risen as he spoke, and Renius turned to face him, realizing he had gone too far.
        Julius raised a clenched fist, anger radiating off him. “If I say the word, Ciro will cut out your heart for me, Renius. He was born on a coast of a different land, but he is Roman. He is a soldier of the Tenth and he is mine. I do not hold him with fear, but with love. Do you understand that ?”
        Renius froze. “I know that, of course, you-”
        Julius interrupted him with a wave of his hand, feeling a headache spike between his eyes. The fear of a fit in front of them made his anger vanish, and he was left feeling empty and tired.
        “Leave me, all of you. Fetch Cabera. Forgive my anger, Renius. I need to argue with you just to know my own mind.”
        Renius nodded, accepting the apology. He went out with the others, leaving Julius alone in the room. The gathering gloom of the evening had turned almost to night, and Julius lit the lamps before standing by the open window, pressing his forehead against the cool stone. The headache throbbed and he groaned softly, rubbing his temples in circular motions as Cabera had taught him.
        There was so much work to do and all the time an inner voice whispered at him, mockingly. Was he hiding in these hills? Where once he had dreamed of standing in the Senate house, now he drew back from it. Cornelia was dead, Tubruk with her. His daughter was a stranger, living in a house he had visited for only one night in six years. There had been times when he hungered to match his strength and wit against men like Sulla and Pompey, but now the thought of throwing himself back into games of power made him nauseous with hatred. Better, surely better, to make a home in Spain, to find a woman there and never see his home again.
        “I cannot go back,” he said aloud, his voice cracking.
        
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        Renius found Cabera in the stables, lancing a swelling in the soft flesh of a cavalry hoof. The horses always seemed to understand he was trying to help them, and even the most spirited stood still after only a few murmured words and pats.
        They were alone and Renius waited until Cabera’s needle had released the pus in the hoof, his fingers massaging the soft flesh to help the drain. The horse shuddered as if flies were landing on its skin, but Cabera had never been kicked and the leg was relaxed in his steady hands.
        “He wants you,” Renius said.
        Cabera looked up at his tone. “Hand me that pot, will you?”
        Renius passed over the cup of sticky tar that would seal the wound. He watched Cabera work in silence, and when the wound was coated, Cabera turned to him with his usual humor dampened.
        “You’re worried about Julius,” the old healer said.
        Renius shrugged. “He’s killing himself here. Of course I’m worried. He doesn’t sleep, just spends his nights working on his mines and maps. I… can’t seem to talk to him without it becoming an argument.”
        Cabera reached out and gripped the iron muscles of Renius’s arm. “He knows you’re here, if he needs you,” he said. “I’ll give him a sleeping draft for tonight. Perhaps you should take one as well. You look exhausted.”
        Renius shook his head. “Just do what you can for him. He deserves better than this.”
        Cabera watched the one-armed gladiator stride away into the darkness.
        “You are a good man, Renius,” he said, too quietly to be heard.

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