Dulcis looked like he was going to take umbrage at her manner but evidently decided it was not worth the effort. ‘Find a seat,’ he jerked his chin at the dining area. ‘We’ll get to you as soon as we can.’
They did as instructed, weaving their way through the patrons till they found a booth that would seat four. At Murco’s insistence she slid in first, protected by the wall on one side and the bodyguard on the other. Cappa sat opposite, as always alert for potential danger. These men were much more than hired muscle and as a consequence would be proportionately expensive. She was surprised that Memmius Grumio would know where to hire professionals like these, but this was waved away when she brought it up.
‘Grumio isn’t paying us,’ Cappa explained. ‘He just told his wife that so he’d look important. Titus is bankrolling this job. We served with him years ago and he had Grumio look us up.’
‘So you were soldiers.’
‘Praetorians,’ Cappa grinned, allowing pride to creep into his voice. ‘Emperor’s own bodyguard. But at the time, there was a new emperor every other month. Lucky for us we were with the old man Vespasian. We backed a winner.’
‘Indeed,’ Lysandra smiled, touched that Titus had gone to such lengths to ensure that she was kept safe. ‘What are your instructions, then?’
‘To guard you,’ Cappa stated the obvious. ‘We understand that your people have rented you a dwelling for you to use whilst you get yourself fit for the ludus. We can help with that, too. The pair of us have trained enough legionaries in our time. After that, we’re to keep eyes on you even though you’ll be part of the school at Paestum. Of course, we can’t join you in there,’ he added hastily.
‘Becoming gladiators is above and beyond the call of duty.’
‘I think you would be quite good at it,’ Lysandra could not resist teasing him. She knew well that gladiators occupied an odd stratum in Roman society. They were at once revered and reviled – heroes and villains, they were to be admired but not aspired to. After all, most gladiators were foreign slaves.
‘Well, yes, I mean we can fight well enough, but you know we’re… old now and I’m not sure…’ Cappa trailed off and flushed whilst Murco burst out laughing at him, realising that Lysandra was making sport.
‘Food’s here,’ Murco said, sparing his friend’s further blushes.
He smiled and winked at the blonde serving girl that brought their meal, but did not reach out and smack her on the rear as she leant over to deliver their plates, something of which Lysandra was truly appreciative.
She eyed the dark wine as Murco poured a strong measure for himself and Cappa, the back of her scalp tingling in maddening anticipation. However, as the lip of the jug hovered over her cup, she spoke up. ‘Just a touch – I’m on one to four from now on.’
‘ One to four,’ Murco was incredulous. ‘Hardly worth bothering if you ask me.’
‘I did not ask you, but the reason for it is that a little wine strengthens the blood. So one part wine, four parts water. Barley,’ she gestured to her plate, ‘and a little meat keep the muscles strong and enable them to heal faster.’
‘Still,’ Murco swilled the contents of his cup around under his nose and breathed in deeply, ‘wine should be enjoyed with the full taste.’
‘Barbarian.’ Cappa shook his head.
‘There will come a day when people realise the folly of drinking watered wine,’ Murco prophesised.
The conversations around them were becoming more loud and raucous now and Lysandra could pick out the Hellene accent under some of the men’s Latin. As more drink was consumed, the pretence was dropped altogether and some of the soldiers began speaking in their own language. Soon the inn was vibrant with the sound of many tongues – which was disappointing because it served to drown out the musical Hellenic lilt.
‘It’s like market day in here,’ Murco said sourly. ‘Everyone should speak Latin, it keeps things easier.’
Lysandra glared at him. ‘Everyone should speak Hellenic. It is a much more expressive and beautiful language.’
‘Hellenic?’
‘Greek, you idiot!’ Cappa supplied.
‘Huh,’ Murco did not look convinced. ‘The Greeks are a bunch of…’ he trailed off as Lysandra continued to glower in his direction.
‘A bunch of what?’ she demanded, cross despite herself.
Someone close by them spoke up. ‘Artists, architects, philoso-phers, poets, lovers, fighters and great generals.’
Lysandra, Cappa and Murco all looked up at the speaker. He was not a young man, yet nor was he past his prime. Lysandra reckoned him about thirty-five. He wore an extravagant, sky-blue tunic which was decorated at the hems with the geometric patterns that one might see on a temple. He was, Lysandra reckoned, classically good looking in that shoulder-length blonde-haired blue-eyed way that some women liked.
‘You forgot sausage jockeys,’ Cappa sniggered, and was rewarded by Murco’s amused grin. ‘Fuck off, mate. We’re trying to eat our dinner.’
However, the Hellene gentleman was not in the least shaken by this crude and typically Roman response. He smiled patronisingly at the bodyguard and then eyed Lysandra. ‘And how could I forget to mention, we have the most beautiful – and deadly – women in the known world. Tell me, good lady, do I have the honour of addressing Achillia of Sparta?’
Lysandra stopped with a spoonful of barley halfway to her mouth, flushing in embarrassed surprise. She was absurdly pleased to be recognised this far from home, but as she was about to respond, Cappa spoke up again.
‘This is our brother’s girl, Lysandra,’ he said. ‘You’ve got the wrong person.’
‘Lysandra is not a Roman name,’ the man commented. ‘And if she’s not Achillia, why did she look right at me as I spoke?’
‘All right…’ As one, Cappa and Murco got to their feet, but the Hellene raised both hands in front of him.
‘There’s no need for that,’ his voice was steady and calm. ‘I’ve seen her fight before, that’s all.’
‘Is there a problem here, sir?’
The confrontation between the three had attracted the attention of nearby soldiers and, seeing one of their own threatened, they put aside their drinks and rounded on the bodyguards.
Lysandra realised that it was her obstinacy that had landed them in this situation and now she must take responsibility for it. She had no doubt in her mind that Cappa and Murco would fight for her if only out of professional pride, but they were hopelessly outnumbered. And besides, she was Achillia of Sparta. ‘No,’ her voice cut through the general hubbub. ‘There’s no problem here.
These men are my bodyguards – I am Achillia.’
The Hellene glanced at his men. ‘It’s all fine, lads – just a misun-derstanding.’ The soldiers gave Cappa and Murco dirty looks which were returned in kind, but retreated back to their drinks at a jerk of their officer’s head. ‘Now, let’s start again, shall we? I am Euaristos of Larissa.’
He punctuated this introduction with a dashing smile which Lysandra returned. ‘Will you join us, Euaristos?’
‘Delighted to,’ he replied, as Cappa slid reluctantly across to the bench to let him in. ‘And you are?’
‘Cappa. That’s Murco. Don’t get any ideas,’ he warned. ‘I could snap your neck before you had a chance to squeak a warning to your thugs.’
Euaristos rolled his eyes. ‘I’m sure that if I had any ideas,’ he mimicked the Latin accent, ‘I’d have called my men in way before now. I saw the lady fight years ago and have never forgotten it. It was,’ he raised his cup, ‘like seeing art come to life.’
Lysandra found herself colouring at the compliment. ‘You are too kind,’ was all she could think to say.
‘Not at all, not at all,’ Euaristos ran a hand through his blonde hair. Lysandra noted that it was greying at the temples. ‘I spent some time in Halicarnassus and I never missed your shows. Your confrontation with Amazona was epic – it was a privilege to watch and I think it will never be bette
red.’
At the mention of Sorina, Lysandra found that she still felt a stab of hatred towards the older woman, the weathered visage and rangy body of her former enemy still strong in her mind. She pushed the image aside. ‘It was a hard fight,’ she said. ‘It was a shame that I failed to finish it, however.’
‘But there’s something poetic in ending the way that it did, don’t you think? Do you know what became of her?’
Lysandra shrugged. ‘After the bout, we were freed as you saw. She probably went back to whatever barbarian hole she crawled out of.’
‘And you retired a few years later: a terrible loss to the people who loved to watch you fight. Still,’ he added ruefully, ‘the people aren’t the ones putting themselves at risk, are they?’
‘Most people never see harm’s way, that’s for sure.’ After having scrutinised Euaristos in silence for a while, Cappa now seemed to have decided that this foppish fellow was not a threat. ‘You don’t look like much of a soldier on the outside, but you lead these men?’
‘Yes,’ Euaristos smiled like a proud father.
‘Auxiliaries?’ asked Murco, his voice laced with scorn.
‘ Mercenaries,’ the Larissan corrected. ‘Mostly from Hellas and the Aegean Islands – but we have a few foreigners in the company.’
‘This is Italia,’ Cappa reminded him. ‘ You’re the foreigners.’
‘Of course.’ Euaristos’s tone was mild, but there was now a hint of iron in his eyes indicating that he would not take much more Roman rudeness.
‘What would a company of Hellene mercenaries be doing in Italia?’ Lysandra interjected, hoping to curtail a confrontation.
‘We were serving in Judaea, seconded to the legions out there.’
‘What a shithole!’ Murco’s comment was full of meaning. ‘Maniacs, the lot of them.’
‘That’s the truth.’ Euaristos took hefty swig of his wine, squeezing his eyes shut as though banishing painful memories. Lysandra saw that, for the first time, Cappa and Murco were looking at him with something other than irritated loathing. ‘Our last job was to escort the taxes back to Rome, which we’ve done – and now we’ll all be on our way home,’ Euaristos added. ‘We’ve got full purses for a time, but you know what soldiers are like.’
‘Fighting, whoring, drinking and back to fighting,’ Murco grinned.
‘Yes – for some of them anyway. I’ll be all right, I’m an officer – and, I like to think, a gentleman. But some of the lads are getting a bit long in the tooth – you know what it’s like. Some of them will be the last ones picked by the misers and the desperate. But we’ll see – there’s always work to be had at Taenarum if you hang around long enough.’
‘That’s true,’ Cappa nodded. ‘That’s near where you’re from, isn’t it?’ he asked Lysandra.
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘It is in Laconia – the Spartan heartland. When I was a Mission Priestess, I considered going there. But the Matriarch of my Temple advised – strongly – against it, counselling me instead to approach the Roman Army.’
‘She was right,’ Euaristos agreed. ‘Taenarum is the biggest man-market in the middle-sea, but there are many barbarians seeking work there now. Thracians, Gauls and – even worse – Germans.
Whilst civilised men respect the gods and their priestesses, the savages don’t. A woman alone would be easy prey. Well, in your case, Achillia, not easy. But you see what I mean.’
‘The Matriarch alluded to such,’ Lysandra agreed.
The four looked up as a huge cheer erupted from the main area of the caupona. Lysandra craned her neck to see over the bobbing heads of the soldiers. She saw two huge men squaring off, one of Euaristos’s mercenaries and a local – a blacksmith if his huge, burn-scarred arms were anything to go by. But, instead of a brawl erupting, both men laughed and swapped insults.
‘It’s started then,’ Euaristos said.
‘What has?’ Lysandra asked.
‘The fighting,’ Cappa answered for Euaristos. ‘That big mercenary bastard has enough grey in his hair to know that the young-sters will kick off soon. So he’s going to pick a row with the biggest, hardest local man in the caupona. Everyone will bet on the outcome.
Then, a few more chancers will have a go, but there won’t be a mass ruck where things can get out of hand. It’s an old soldier’s trick, but it works every time.’
Euaristos nodded in agreement. ‘I’ve already arranged for as many whores as I could to turn up later tonight. So, after the bouts, the men will have other things to divert them.’
‘You arranged this?’ Lysandra was impressed.
‘Of course,’ Euaristos flashed his dashing grin. ‘As Cappa says, it’s the oldest trick in the book, but I don’t want my men getting out of hand. If a local gets himself killed in a fight, not only does my man end up on a cross but every step of the march is dogged by angry, vengeful bastards who just want to kill you. No,’ he said.
‘Better this way. Besides – old Thallo there is big enough and experienced enough to win – but not so well that the other man will end up in the infirmary.’
‘It doesn’t always work, though,’ said Murco.
‘Your cup is always half-empty,’ Cappa chided.
‘At least I don’t go through life disappointed.’
Both Cappa and Euaristos chuckled and Lysandra found herself smiling along with them. It felt good to be back in the company of warriors.
‘So… ’ Euaristos waited until she had spooned down the last of her barley. ‘Achillia, would you do me the honour of watching my man in combat?’
She glanced at Cappa and Murco. She could tell that they were torn by wanting her to refuse and wanting to see the action for themselves. People were all the same: they loved to watch a good fight. ‘I would be delighted to,’ she replied.
Cappa cleared his throat. ‘Now would be a good time to retire,’ he reminded her.
‘I appreciate you are just doing your job,’ Lysandra replied. ‘But this will be fine.’
‘Look. We’re getting paid to keep an eye on you. If you’re going to insist on ignoring our advice, you’re making the job a lot harder.’
‘I am hardly in danger from footpads here, Cappa.’ She heard the haughtiness in her own voice and was not embarrassed by it.
These men had been hired by Titus from her own funds. They worked for her and not the other way around.
Cappa sighed. ‘It’s not footpads I’m worried about,’ he jerked his chin at the crowd of people now vomiting out of the caupona and into the courtyard. ‘Without putting too fine a point on it, lady, you’re a beautiful woman in the midst of a bunch of half-drunk soldiers. Even if they are Greeks, you still look appealing.’
‘I’ve already told you,’ Euaristos interrupted, ‘there are whores on the way. Besides,’ he smiled at Lysandra. ‘The lady is with me.
The boys know better than to go anywhere near her.’
Under his gaze, Lysandra felt her face go hot and she knew she was blushing furiously, which only made Euaristos’s grin more predatory. She swallowed: not since Catuvolcos had proclaimed his love for her had she been under such male scrutiny. ‘Thank you for your… protection, Euaristos,’ she began, ignoring the wink he threw in her direction. ‘I am sure you are correct. Even if I am not with you – and I am not with you – your men will respect our friendship.’
If her rebuttal threw him, the mercenary did not show it. ‘Quite right,’ he replied, sitting back in on the bench. It was only then that Lysandra realised that he had been leaning closer and closer to her.
She found his attentions were flattering if unwanted: she had never really found many men attractive, and those that she did were big and strong in the proper, Spartan way. Euaristos was charming and handsome for sure, but for all that, rather too Athenian in his demeanour.
Cappa just looked resigned. ‘She’s paying our wages,’ he reminded Murco.
‘This could get messy,’ his companion warned.
‘Come on
,’ Cappa tipped his wine down. ‘How could it? This is just close protection which we’ve done a thousand times before.’
‘Yeah, but we were backed up by a century of Praetorians then.’
‘For sake of the gods, Murco!’
‘I’m just being careful.’
‘You’re just being a twat.’
‘Bollocks,’ Murco too drained his cup, which Lysandra took as his request for the missio. ‘If anything happens, don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
‘All will be well, friends,’ Euaristos informed them confidently.
‘Come, we don’t want to miss the beginning of the bout – bouts,’ he amended.
Lysandra knew full well that one brawl would not be the end of it. Whatever side lost would want a chance to redeem his side’s honour and so it would go on until they were all too drunk or too battered to continue. ‘Perhaps,’ she said, as the thought occurred to her, ‘you should tell your men that the whores are on the way. It would be waste of funds to hire them if the men are too inebriated or injured to…’ she trailed off, seeking the right word, ‘…perform.’
Euaristos waved a dismissive hand. ‘ I’m not paying for them,’ he said. ‘I just had a message passed to the whoremaster that there would be drunk soldiers here this night. It’s his loss if he turns up too late.’
‘Very mercenary of you,’ Murco observed.
‘I’m a professional. Come, let’s go.’
Apart from the few hardened drinkers they passed on the way out of the caupona, both locals and mercenaries had found their way outside.
An impromptu arena had been set up in a paddock set just off from the ‘Elysian’. The first bout between Euaristos’s man, Thallo, and the blacksmith was already underway, but Lysandra could not see any of the action due to the milling and bobbing heads between her and the fight. She glanced at the shorter Euaristos who was craning his neck and shifting from side to side. After a few moments, he tired of this.
‘Move aside there,’ he ordered, shoving the man in front of him.
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