The Gods of War by Conn Iggulden Page A

himself. Whatever small contingent of Roman soldiers was stationed there would not be able to interfere. Outside of Rome herself, there was nothing in the south to trouble them.
    The guards followed him down to the port, ignoring the stares and pointing fingers of the workers there. It was a strange feeling for most of them, but Brutus was familiar with hostile territory and fell back into the attitudes of Gaul without really thinking about it. The sight of soldiers would have brought a sense of peace and order only a short time before, but with a looming civil war they would be feared as much as any other band of scavengers. It was unpleasant to see the faces of those who stepped aside for the two cohorts of guards. Even with all his experience, Brutus could not ignore a subtle discomfort and found himself growing increasingly irritable as he led the column through to the import buildings on the docks. He left them there in the sun as he dismounted and strode inside.
    The quaestor’s clerk was on his feet, arguing with two burly men. All three turned to face him as he entered and Brutus saluted lazily, knowing his arrival had been the subject of their debate.
    â€œI need food and water for my men,” he said abruptly. “See to that first. We will not trouble you for long, gentlemen, so put yourselves at ease. I want to find a ship to take me to Greece.”
    As he mentioned his destination, he noticed the clerk’s eyes flicker to a piece of parchment on his desk and then back up, guiltily. Brutus smiled, crossing the room. The dockworkers moved to block him and he dropped a casual hand onto his sword.
    â€œYou are unarmed, gentlemen. Are you certain you’d like to try me?” he asked.
    One of the men licked his bottom lip nervously and would have spoken, but his companion tapped him on the arm and they both edged away.
    â€œVery good,” Brutus said to them, letting his hand fall. “Now then, food, water and . . . a ship.”
    He reached down to the desk and gripped the clerk’s bony hand, moving it firmly off the papers. Brutus took the sheaf and scanned them quickly, letting each fall until he came to one midway through the pile. It was a record of a legion galley that had landed at the port just the day before to replenish its freshwater barrels. There was little detail to be gleaned from it. The captain had returned from the north according to the record and set sail after only a few hours in Brundisium.
    â€œWhere was he heading?” Brutus demanded.
    The clerk opened his mouth and closed it, shaking his head.
    Brutus sighed. “I have a thousand men standing on your docks. All we want is to leave here without trouble, but I am not patient today. I can give the word to set fire to this building and anything else you value. Or you can just tell me. Where is this galley?”
    The clerk bolted for a back room and Brutus heard the clatter of his sandals as he rushed up a flight of stairs. He waited in uncomfortable silence with the two dockworkers, ignoring them.
    A man wearing a toga that had seen better days came down the steps behind the clerk. Brutus sighed at the quaestor’s appearance.
    â€œProvincials,” he murmured under his breath.
    The man heard him and glared. “Where are your letters of authority?” the quaestor demanded.
    Brutus stared at him, focusing on a food stain on the man’s robe until he flushed.
    â€œYou have no right to threaten us here,” the quaestor blustered. “We are loyal.”
    â€œReally? To whom?” Brutus asked. The man hesitated and Brutus enjoyed his discomfort before he went on. “I have two cohorts going to join Pompey and the Senate in Greece. That is my authority. Your clerk was good enough to show me the records and a galley passed through here yesterday. Tell me where they were heading.”
    The quaestor fired a poisonous glance at his hapless servant before coming to a decision. “I