The Gods of War by Conn Iggulden Page B

spoke to the captain myself,” he said reluctantly. “He was on patrol off Ariminum when the message reached him to come in. He was going to land at Ostia.” He hesitated.
    â€œBut you told him that Pompey had already left,” Brutus said. “I imagine he would want to join the fleet by sailing around the south coast, meeting them halfway. Does that sound like the conversation you remember?”
    The quaestor stiffened at the tone. “I had no new orders for him. I believe he may have put to sea to deny the value of his ship to . . . rebel forces.”
    â€œA sensible man,” Brutus said. “But
we
are loyal to Pompey, sir. We need that galley. I expect such a thoughtful captain would have told you his next port in case the right person came asking. Somewhere further south, yes?”
    As he spoke, he watched the clerk’s eyes and saw them shift guiltily. The quaestor was a far better gambler than his servant, but he caught the glance and the muscles stood out on his jaw as he considered what to do.
    â€œHow do I know you are not with Caesar?” he asked.
    The question had a far greater effect than the quaestor could have intended. Brutus seemed to grow slightly, making the little office feel smaller and oppressively hot. The fingers of his right hand drummed for a moment on the silver breastplate, the noise startlingly loud in the silence.
    â€œDo you think I have a secret password for you?” he snapped. “A special sign to show I am loyal? These are complicated days. There is nothing more I can say to you, except this. If you do not tell me, I will burn this port to the ground and you in it. I will have my men bar the doors and listen to you scratching at them. That is all I offer.” He stared the quaestor down, knowing there would be no hint of a bluff in his eyes.
    â€œTarentum. He said he would make a landing at Tarentum,” the clerk said, breaking the tension.
    The quaestor was visibly relieved to have had the decision taken from him, but he still raised his fist in reaction, making the clerk flinch. Brutus looked for some hint that they were lying, but he was satisfied and then ignored the pair, calculating quickly. Tarentum was a port he could reach in just a few hours of hard riding across an isthmus the galley would have to sail around.
    â€œThank you, gentlemen; your loyalty will be rewarded,” he said, watching their fear and confusion as they digested his words. He supposed it would be much the same all over Roman lands very soon, as the question of allegiance became more and more important. Civil war engendered a distrust that had already begun to eat at the foundations of their world.
    Outside in the sun, Brutus watched the cohorts fill their waterskins from a well in reasonable order. He was tempted for a moment of wildness to have them burn the port as he had threatened. After all, it could well be one of those Julius would use to send a fleet to Greece. He did not give the order, preferring not to send a column of smoke to show their position. There was also a little pride in wanting Julius to make the crossing as soon as he could. Brutus needed just a few months to establish himself in Pompey’s forces, and after that Julius could come and be welcome.
    â€œSeneca, there’s a legion galley heading for Tarentum. I shall ride there. Follow me when you have found provisions.”
    Seneca looked at his men and his mouth became a firm line.
    â€œWe have no silver to pay for food,” he said.
    Brutus snorted. “This is a port without ships. I’d say the warehouses are full of whatever you need. Take what you want and come after me as fast as you are able. Understood?”
    â€œYes, I suppose—”
    â€œYes,
sir,
” Brutus snapped. “Then you salute as if you know what you’re doing, understood?”
    â€œYes, sir,” Seneca replied, saluting stiffly.
    Brutus led his mount over to the well and