Rhodope’s tent was pitched at the center of things, and she was ensconced in a padded armchair in front of it, surveying the prospective clientele. The tent was waterproof leather outside, hitched at one end to the red-and-green wagon it traveled in. Inside, striped silk hangings and beaded curtains gave it an air of Eastern splendor, and the pegged wooden floor, which could be taken apart and put together again without nails, was covered with cushions and thick rugs. Rhodope’s olive face broadened into a smile when she saw Correus, and she ushered him inside and sent one of the girls to get some wine. They wore old gowns with scarves tied over their hair, cleaning house for the evening’s company. Rhodope settled herself in a chair beside a folding table that bore an incense burner and a little bronze statue of a couple in an acrobatic position. Correus took a chair beside her and stretched out his legs. The air was heavy with incense, and the bronze girl appeared to wink at him over her partner’s left foot.
“I thought your bones were too old for wagons.”
Rhodope chuckled. The gold tooth gleamed at him. “I am also too old to stop eating. Moguntiacum is as dead as Colonia now that the emperor has come here.”
“How is business?”
“Ah, very good. Come tonight, and you will see.”
“My wife is here.”
“You are too respectable, Correus. It will make you dull.”
He laughed. “I want a favor, Rhodope.”
She became businesslike. “Of what sort?”
“I will give you a piece of useful information. Profitable. I just want you and your girls to see that it gets passed on.”
Rhodope looked interested, but wary. “And this useful information that I suspect could get me in trouble?”
“Only a tip on a horse race,” he said lightly. “Not dangerous.”
“Your legate is holding the bets for this horse race,” Rhodope said. “And he is dangerous.”
“Not to you. If you want to make some money, you can put your bets on the team entered by Centurion Quintus.”
“That is a long shot.” Rhodope, as he thought, appeared to have the odds in her head. Very few things having to do with money passed her by.
“Not so long a shot as Tribune Petreius’s team.”
“That is the favorite. The odds are even on.”
Correus shrugged. “Vettius wouldn’t like having to pay that.”
“Stop being subtle with me, Correus,” Rhodope said. “Has your thief of a legate fixed this race?”
“Yes.” He was certain of it now. Eumenes had been making cronies among the other officers’ slaves, and Tribune Petreius’s driver proved talkative when he had a head full of wine.
“And he means for this Quintus’s team to win?”
“Not exactly. His own team is the best horseflesh entered, barring Petreius’s.”
“But you tell me Quintus. I have seen Quintus’s team. They do not look so fine to me.”
“Then don’t bet,” Correus said. “All I ask is to put the word out and say to keep it quiet.”
Rhodope chuckled. “That should spread it faster than a fire.” She gave him a long, thoughtful look while he pretended to study the bronze couple on the table. “Your father raises horses, doesn’t he? I think I will bet.”
* * *
The bridge was halfway across the river. Julius Frontinus, his tunic tucked up into his sash of office and his legs wet from the knees down, stood on the bank, going over calculations with a junior engineer. A log barge was moored beyond the end of the bridge, and the crack of the pile driver’s lead weight sounded sharply across the water. Felix, who appeared each morning as soon as work began, tugged at Frontinus’s elbow.
“Can I ride on that?”
Frontinus looked down, amused. “Certainly not.”
“Why not?”
“Because you would fall off and drown.” He checked the calculations again and ran a hand through his graying hair. His helmet was on the bank, with his sandals and greaves. “That should do very well.” The engineer went away, shouting something at another man with a surveyor’s tripod, who stood on the completed planking partway out. Frontinus looked down at Felix. “You can ride in a boat with me if you like. Would that do?”
“Yes, please.” Felix smiled sunnily. “I have brought my lunch so I can stay all day.” He would have spent the night on the bridge, too, if anyone would let him.
Eumenes, sitting astride a log they were bracing between the upstream and downstream pilings, saw Felix’s small form trotting after the chief of Engineers and gave a sigh of relief. He should be safe enough with Julius Frontinus. Eumenes had been sent out to work on the bridge – Frontinus was commandeering any help he could get – not to nursemaid his master’s son, but if the little devil fell in the water, his mother was not going to think that was an excuse. He gave a final yank to the cording that secured his end of the log and started to splice in the cord end. Beyond him on the pile driver’s barge the ratchets clicked as the weight rose to the top of its trough. Eumenes winced as it slammed down again.
“Gets into your ears, don’t it?” a soldier said. He was standing in a boat moored to the pilings. He grinned up at Eumenes astride the log. “I’ll buy you a drink to chase the headache with if you’ll do me a favor. I want a bet put on for the legate’s race, and I’m confined to quarters.” He made a rueful face. “Drew three days for bein’ out after hours last night, but it was worth it. Old Rhodope’s got a girl who knows more positions than a snake.”
Eumenes laughed. “What’s your bet?”
The soldier looked over his shoulder and back to Eumenes. “Centurion Quintus’s team. Word’s out that they’re hotter than they look. I want to get in before the odds change. Put some on for yourself if you want to, but don’t spread it around.”
“I’ll keep it quiet,” Eumenes said. He chuckled and swung himself off the log. Those whores were better than a town crier.
* * *
“What have you been doing? You’ll out-clever yourself.”
Tribune Petreius looked at Vettius uncomprehendingly. “I haven’t been doing anything.”
“No? Well, if you weren’t the one who was stupid enough to try to sweeten the odds, who was?” Vettius looked as if he thought Tribune Petreius was plenty stupid enough, and Petreius bristled.
“I told you, I haven’t done anything, and I don’t care for your tone.”
“Well, someone,” Vettius explained patiently, “has been touting Centurion Quintus’s team as a hot bet, and there’s been a lot of money laid on.”
“But, that’s all to the good, isn’t it?” Petreius said. “I mean, Quintus’s nags are a long shot. They couldn’t take your team.”
“Then why is every soldier in this fort scrambling to bet on them?” Vettius inquired icily. “They have stopped betting on your team, I might add, which was supposed to be the point of our arrangement.”
“What’s the difference?” Petreius took a peach from the bowl of fruit on the legate’s desk and tossed it from hand to hand. It was pleasantly cool in the legate’s tent, and Petreius was disinclined to worry. “They aren’t going to win.”
“The difference is, they aren’t guaranteed to lose,” Vettius snapped, “and when that sort of rumor gets going and I didn’t start it, I get suspicious.”
“You’re always suspicious.”
“It has paid so far.”
“Well, Quintus’s team doesn’t look like much to me, but if you’re that worried, then have someone take care of them. He’s just a junior, and a through-the-ranks man at that. What can he do?”
“Admirable,” Vettius said sarcastically. “And then I will have to give back all the money that’s been bet on them if they’re scratched. And since no one seems inclined to bet on your team now, we seem to have lost the purpose of this race.”
“Oh.” Petreius looked thoughtful. “I know someone who might be interested in holding a second book. We could always bet on your nags with him.”
&nb
sp; “You show signs of intelligence,” Vettius said. “That is useful. I’ll shorten the odds on Quintus, and maybe the fools will decide he’s not such a prospect, after all. But put the money down with your man, because if they don’t take the bait, I’m going to scratch Quintus.”
Tribune Petreius departed, eating his peach, and Marius Vettius looked after him nervously. Petreius was not the only backer involved in this race. A number of useful men had been included in the money-making here, and if anything went wrong, they were not going to be understanding.
* * *
“I took a look at Vettius’s team. Them and their driver,” Julius said, shuddering. “No offense, sir, but it’s a good thing you sent for the bays.”
“We thought so, too,” Flavius said, “when we looked at them.” Flavius kept his own chariot team, for his amusement, but one look at Marius Vettius’s golden-hided beasts had told him that his own hadn’t a prayer. Petreius’s team was even better, but they weren’t competition.
“That little horror who’s driving them is even worse,” Julius said. Vettius’s chariot boy was a subhuman menace with the temperament of a crocodile and was popularly believed to have had an ape for a mother. “I want to keep well ahead of him.”
“Now just a minute,” Correus said. “You aren’t going to drive.”
Julius sat up straight, indignant. “I didn’t nursemaid those nags clear from Rome to watch you drive ’em! And you weigh too much!”
“I weigh enough to sit on you,” Correus said. “Now look, Diulius says you have promise. He didn’t say you’re invincible. And you’re not a better driver than I am – not yet.”
Julius was outraged. “I drove in the Circus Maximus last year! In a real race. And I won.” He glared. “What have you been doing?”
“Getting old,” Flavius said. “But not so old that we can’t deal with you.”
They stood side by side and looked down at him. “I’m still a better driver than you are,” Correus said. “Keep arguing and we’ll shut you up in the stables.”
Julius looked disgusted, but he gave up. Flavius turned to his brother. “Now that we’ve settled that point,” he said lazily, “are you going to try to tell me you’re a better driver than I am?”
“Not you, too!” Correus said. “I cooked up this scheme. You aren’t going to risk your hide on it!”
“You had help,” Flavius said. “And Aemelius is my kin.”
“And I suppose you’ll say that Julia’s only half sister to me, so she and Lucius don’t count!”
“Don’t be an ass,” Flavius said. “The man’s your legate. He can boot you from here to a hole in Syria, and you never did like desert.”
“Not if we win,” Correus said.
They stood stubbornly confronting each other, and Julius watched them with interest.
“There’s more at stake than this race,” Correus said. “And the man we don’t want suspicious is the emperor. You’re on his staff.”
“He already knows I have a quarrel with Vettius,” Flavius said.
“He also told you to let it alone. If you want to be around when we’ve finished with Vettius, you’d better not show your face in this quite so publicly. Domitian doesn’t like being crossed.”
“Right,” Flavius said sarcastically. “He’s going to swallow a tale that Quintus really owns those bays, once he’s seen them race. Quintus couldn’t afford those ponies if he put his whole year’s pay into them.”
“He’ll believe they’re my ponies,” Correus said, “and I stepped in for friendship’s sake. Quintus and I go back a ways.”
Flavius snorted. “Quintus was a menace. He went Unlawful Absent and punched a sentry. And you got him a promotion. He owes you.”
“He straightened up when he got it, too,” Correus said. “He just used to get bored when there was nothing to do. Anyway, none of this makes any difference. Domitian doesn’t know that, and he hasn’t ordered me to keep my hands off Vettius. And there’s something else you haven’t thought of.” He looked hesitant.
“What’s that?”
“Your hands.”
Flavius held them up. Long hands, four-fingered. He didn’t seem to be offended, but his stubborn expression didn’t change. “They haven’t slowed me down yet.”
“You haven’t driven in a race that mattered this much yet. Can you say for sure that it might not matter?”
Flavius sat down and spread his hands out on the white skirt of his harness tunic. “Damn you, Correus. No, I can’t say for sure.” He looked up at his brother, and there was a lazy, dangerous light in his eyes. “All right, you can drive the bays.”
“And you’ll stay out of it.” Correus looked suspicious. He didn’t trust his brother an inch farther than he could have tossed the horses.
Flavius stood up again and smiled. “I told you, you can drive the bays.”
* * *
When race day dawned a week later, Correus was still suspicious, but so far his brother hadn’t tried to have him doped or tied up, which Correus wouldn’t have put past him. Correus passed up the dubious cooking of the officers’ mess, to which duty generally drove him, and had breakfast with his family. He was halfway through the light meal that was all he was going to allow himself, when Julius found him. After he had listened to Julius, he had worse things to worry about than what Flavius might do.
XVIII The Race and the Rose of Italy
“Doped!” Julius said indignantly. “Doped in their stalls, Centurion Quintus’s poor nags that weren’t even going to run! The centurion’s some mad, I can tell you. He thinks he may lose one of them – the bastard overdid the dose!”
Correus tried not to look unnerved. They had done what they set out to do and ruined the betting, and now Vettius was afraid. A frightened man was unpredictable.
“He is a bad man,” Felix said. “The chief of Engineers got mad and shouted at him.” He seemed to have no doubts as to whom Julius meant.
Ygerna put a hand over his mouth. Felix was entirely too clever. “You are not to repeat that, ever,” she said. “Now eat your breakfast.” Felix wrapped his feet around the legs of his chair and returned to his bread and honey, but he kept his ears open. Eilenn sat next to him, eating her own bread and honey, with Nurse washing her between bites. “Nurse, leave us, please,” Ygerna said. “You can wash the whole child when she has done. It will be simpler.” She poured Felix a cup of very watered wine and pushed the bowl of olives at him. “Eat some of these and be quiet, or I will make you leave, too.”
“Go and find the cavalry vet from the Eleventh Claudia, and have him look at Quintus’s horses,” Correus told Julius. “He’s the best we’ve got. Tell him I asked.”
“Correus, this is beginning to frighten me,” Ygerna said when they were alone with the children. “That man will try to do you an evil.”
“Well, now, we knew that when we started,” Correus said.
“I didn’t think he would show his hand so openly. I wish now—”
“You wish I could back out,” Correus said. “Well, I can’t.
And I wouldn’t if I could. This is my family.” His voice suddenly lost its note of forced placidity. She saw both hands clench into fists. “No one does what this man has done to us and gets away free. And if I don’t do it, Flavius will, and I have a better chance, whatever he thinks.”
“Maybe Julius Frontinus could have done something,” Ygerna said doubtfully.
Correus shook his head. “We’ve been through that. We can’t tell Julius Frontinus that Lucius has tied himself up with treason. Not even if Frontinus would understand. No, this is for us to do.”
Ygerna gave up and sat poking raisins into her bread and honey, making a pattern. She didn’t feel much like eating. One day I will understand them, she thought. This was her first experience with a family so tightly knit that even though they squabbled among themselves, they would close ranks like a locking door against the outside world when one of their own was threatened. Her own fami
ly, notably her uncle Bendigeid, would have each cheerfully sold the rest straight into Annwn if it had seemed propitious. Except her mother maybe, and even she had gone to live with the holy women on Mona to escape from Bendigeid, and left Ygerna behind.
She sat and watched her husband eat breakfast. He was drinking from the children’s pitcher, which had more water than wine. For him, or for either of the children, she would kill. That was natural. But she had married into a more far-reaching bond than that, it seemed.
When he had finished eating, Correus went off to the hovel where he and Julius had been hiding his father’s ponies. Ygerna called Nurse back in and told her to get the children ready. If Felix was forbidden to watch the race, he would only run away and watch it anyway.
Nearly everyone in Castra Mattiacorum had turned out for the legate’s race. Ygerna settled herself in the stands above the track with Eilenn in her lap and Eumenes beside her, to keep a grip on Felix and to make it clear to the crowd that his mistress was an officer’s lady and not to be annoyed. Ygerna looked nervously at Eilenn, but no dark visions clouded the child’s face this morning. Maybe it will be all right. But that wasn’t much to go on. The Sight only came when whatever god had given it saw fit to send it once again.
The arena was a natural hollow with wooden planks set into it for seats on three sides, and the course marked out below. The spina was a makeshift barrier of sawhorses and lumber from the bridge, draped with scarlet cloth and garlanded with greenery. A pole with the Capricorn badge of the Fourteenth Gemina and the personal emblem of its legate rose at one end. A reviewing box had been built opposite the open side where the horses would come in, and it too was draped in scarlet and hung with garlands of pine and oak branches.
The Emperor's Games Page 33