Emperor: the field of swords E#3 Read Online Free PDF Page A

his right and Octavian held the line a few places along. They thundered over the plain together, raising a plume of dust that left the taste of bitter earth in their mouths. The air was warm around them and their mood was light. They were all tired, but it was that pleasant lethargy of skilled work, with food and a good night’s sleep only a little way ahead.
        As the fort came into sight, Brutus called to Domitius over the noise of the horses, “Let’s give them a show. Split and wheel on my signal.”
        The guards on the gate would be watching them come in, he knew. Though the extraordinarii had been together for less than two years, Julius had given him what he wanted in the way of men and horses, and he had wanted the best of the Tenth. Man for man, Brutus would have wagered on them against any army in the world. They were the charge-breakers, the first into impossible positions. Every one of them had been picked for his ability with horse and sword, and Brutus was proud of them all. He knew the rest of the Tenth considered them more show than substance, but then the legion hadn’t seen a battle in their time in Spain. When the extraordinarii had been blooded and shown what they could do, they would justify their expense, he was certain. The armor alone had cost a small fortune: laced bronze and iron strips that allowed them greater movement than the heavier plates of the triarii legionaries. The men of Brutus’s extraordinarii had polished the metals to a high sheen, and, against the glossy skin of their mounts, they glowed in the dying sun.
        Brutus raised his hand and made sharp gestures to each side. He kicked his mount into a gallop as the group slid smoothly apart as if an invisible line had been drawn on the ground. Now the wind pressed against Brutus’s face and he laughed with excitement, not needing to look to know the formation was perfect. Specks of white spittle flew back from his horse’s mouth, and he leaned forward into the saddle horn, gripping with his legs and feeling as if he were flying.
        The fort was growing closer with astonishing rapidity and, caught up in the moment as he was, Brutus almost left it too late for the signal to re-form the split square. The two groups swerved together only moments before they were changing their holds on the reins to halt, but there were no mistakes. As one man, they dismounted, patting the steaming necks of the stallions and geldings Julius had brought over from Rome. Only cut mounts could be used against enemy cavalry, as intact stallions could be sent berserk by the scent of a mare in season. It was a balancing act between taking the best for the extraordinarii and keeping the bloodlines strong. Even the local Spanish whistled and called when they saw those horses, their love of the breed overcoming the usual reticence they showed to the Roman soldiers.
        Brutus was laughing at something Domitius had said when he caught sight of his mother. His eyes widened for a moment before he rushed under the gate arch to embrace her.
        “Your letters didn’t mention this!” he said, lifting her up to her toes and kissing her on both cheeks.
        “I thought you might become overexcited,” Servilia replied. They both laughed and Brutus put her down.
        Servilia held him back at arm’s length and smiled to see him so full of life. The years in Spain had suited her only son. He had a force for life in him that made other men look up and stand straighter in his presence.
        “As handsome as ever, I see,” she said with a twinkle. “I suppose you have a string of local girls pining after you.”
        “I daren’t go out without a guard to save me from the poor creatures,” he replied.
        Domitius appeared suddenly, moving between them to force an introduction.
        “Ah yes, this is Domitius, who cleans the horses. Have you met Octavian? He’s kin to Julius.” Grinning at Domitius’s appalled expression, Brutus