Emperor: The Field of Swords by Conn Iggulden

you want me to keep apologizing? I was raging. I thought you were using her like… It was a mistake, I’m sorry. What more do you want?”
        “I want to know I can trust you. I want all this to be forgotten,” Julius replied.
        Brutus stood. “You can trust me. You know it. I gave up Primigenia for you. Let this go.”
        As they looked at each other a smile crept onto Julius’s face.
        “Did you notice how I parried the stroke? I wish Renius could have seen that.”
        “ Yes, you were very good,” Brutus replied sarcastically. “Are you satisfied?”
        “I think I could have won,” Julius said cheerfully.
        Brutus blinked at him. “Now that’s going too far.”
        The tension between them receded to a distant pressure.
        “I’m going to take the legion back to Rome,” Julius said in a rush, relieved to have his friend to share his plans once again. He wondered if the weeks after the fight had hurt Brutus half as much as they had hurt him.
        “We all know, Julius. The men gossip like a group of old women. Is it to challenge Pompey?” Brutus spoke casually, as if the lives of thousands didn’t hang on the answer.
        “No, he rules well enough, with Crassus. I will put my name forward to be consul at the elections.” He watched Brutus for a reaction.
        “You think you can win?” Brutus replied slowly, thinking it over. “You’ll have only a few months and the people have a short memory.”
        “I am the last surviving blood of Marius. I will remind them,” Julius said, and Brutus felt the stirring of the old excitement. He reflected on how his friend had experienced almost a rebirth in the last months. The snapping anger had gone, and his mother had played her part in it. Even his dear little Angelina was in awe of Servilia, and he could begin to understand why.
        “It’s almost dawn. You should get some sleep,” he said.
        “Not yet, there’s a lot still to do before we can see Rome again.”
        “Then I will stay with you, unless you mind,” Brutus said, stifling another yawn.
        Julius smiled at him. “I don’t mind. I need someone to write as I dictate.”

CHAPTER 6
        
        
        Renius stood in the dry riverbed and looked up at the bridge. The structure swarmed with Romans and local men, clambering over a skeleton of wood that shifted and creaked as they moved along the walkways. Two hundred feet from the dry riverbed to the stones of the road above. When it was complete, the dam upriver would be removed and the water would hide the massive feet of the bridge, washing around the shaped edges for long after the builders had gone to dust. Just being in the shadow of it was a strange feeling for the old gladiator. When the waters came, no one would ever stand there again.
        He shook his head in silent pride, listening to the orders and calls as the winch teams began to raise another of the blocks that would form the arch. Their voices echoed under the bridge and Renius could see they shared his satisfaction. This bridge would never fall and they knew it.
        The road above his head would open up a fertile valley in a direct line to the coast. Towns would be built and the roads extended to meet the needs of the new settlers. They would come for the good ground and for trade and most of all for the clean, sweet water issuing from the underground aqueducts that had taken three years to build.
        Renius watched as a team of men threw their strength on the heavy ropes as the archstone was swung over to its position. The pulleys squealed and he saw Ciro was leaning out over the rail to guide the block home. Men at his side slathered brown mortar over the surfaces and then Ciro wrapped his arms around it, chanting with the others in a lulling rhythm to the teams below. Renius held his breath. Though the giant’s strength was unmatched among the teams, a slip could easily crush a hand or a