Emperor: The Death of Kings E#2 Read Online Free PDF Page B

volunteered, preferring the easier duty to pirate hunting.
    “Don’t forget what happened to his last set of guards,” Gaditicus had warned them, but it was a hollow threat, as well they knew after the rebels’ pyre lifted a stream of black smoke high enough to be seen for miles. The job would take them safely to retirement.
    Gaditicus cursed under his breath. He was going to be very short of good men for the next year. The old man Caesar had brought on board with him had turned out to be good with wounds, so a few of the injured might be saved from an early release and poverty. He wasn’t a miracle worker, though, and some of the crippled ones would have to be put off at the next port, there to wait for a slow merchant ship to take them back to Rome. The galley century had lost a third of its men in Mytilene. Promotions would have to be made, but they couldn’t replace twenty-seven dead in the fighting, fourteen of them competent hastati who had served on Accipiter for more than ten years.
    Gaditicus sighed to himself. Good men lost just to smoke out a few young hotheads trying to live the stories their grandfathers told. He could imagine the speeches they had made, whereas the truth was that Rome brought them civilization and a glimpse of what man could achieve. All the rebels fought for was the right to live in mud huts and scratch their arses, did they but know it. He didn’t expect them to be grateful, he had lived too long and seen too much for that, but he demanded their respect, and the ill-planned mess at the fort had shown precious little of that. Eighty-nine enemy bodies had been burned at dawn. The Roman dead were carried back to the ship for burial at sea.
    It was with such angry thoughts buzzing around in his head that he marched into the town of Mytilene in his best armor, with the rest of his depleted century shining behind him. Rain threatened in the form of dark, heavy clouds, and the stiflingly hot air matched his mood perfectly.
    Julius marched stiffly after the battering he had taken the night before. It amazed him how many small cuts and scrapes he had picked up without noticing. His chest was purple all down the left side, and a shiny yellow lump stood out on one of his ribs. He would have Cabera look at it back on Accipiter, but he didn’t think it was broken.
    He disagreed with Gaditicus over the need for the march. The centurion was happy to break a rebellion and vanish, leaving someone else to handle the politics, but it was important to remind the town that the governor, above all else, was not to be touched.
    He glanced over at Paulus, taking in the heavily bandaged hands and the still-swollen face. Julius admired that he had refused to be carried in a litter, determined to show himself unbeaten after his torture. Fair enough that the man wanted to come back to town at the head of a small army. There were men like him all over Roman lands. They had little support from the Senate and were like small kings who nonetheless depended on the goodwill of the locals to make things happen as they wanted. When that goodwill failed, Julius knew, a thousand small things could make life very difficult. No wood or food delivered except at sword-point, roads damaged, small fires set. Nothing to turn out the guards for, but constant irritations, like burrs caught in the skin.
    From what the governor said of the life, Paulus seemed to enjoy the challenges. Julius had been surprised to note that his main feeling was not anger at his ordeal, but sadness that people he had trusted had turned against him. Julius wondered if he would be so trusting in the future.
    The legionaries marched through the town, ignoring the stares and sudden movement as mothers cleared playing children from their path. Most of the Romans were feeling the aches of the night before and were pleased to reach the governor’s home in the center. They formed a square in front of the building, and Julius saw one of the benefits of the post