The Pillars of Rome

by Jack Ludlow

  ‘So you will attach him to you?’

  ‘That I will decide, Marcellus, when we have concluded our business.’

  The business was the sale of the last far-flung property that Lucius owned, farms in Sicily that had been a drain on his time and money, rather than an asset. They had been hard to sell, but Barbinus, who owned other Sicilian properties, had looked them over on his last visit then indicated that he would give Lucius a fair price. Lucius was not fooled; he suspected that Barbinus was buying a way into his favour, not farms from which he could make a profit.

  ‘You must be fatigued after your journey. The bath house is ready for you.’

  Marcellus looked around for a bath house but could see nothing resembling the public baths in Rome. Barbinus, he realised, must have one of his own, which was real luxury, even in a country villa.

  ‘My son will need it, certainly,’ Lucius replied, ‘since his long nose, poking out endlessly from his litter, has covered him in the dust of the roadway. I prefer to get straight down to business, Barbinus. Let any bathing take place after that.’

  ‘As you wish, Lucius Falerius.’ Barbinus tried to click his fingers, but they were too fleshy to make much sound. It mattered little; his steward stepped forward immediately. ‘Nicos, take young master Marcellus to the bath house.’

  Everyone else – lictors, scribes and escort – was sent to an empty barn, while Lucius was shepherded into the atrium of the villa, a substantial space with a smaller fountain playing in the middle. Marcellus, walking behind, heard his host snap at his steward, ordering him to get a rider on the road to find out what had happened to something, but he was unable to quite catch what it was as he was led down a corridor to his destination. With a plentiful supply of water from the mountain streams, and plentiful wood, Barbinus had made full use of what nature provided, so both room and pool were steaming hot. Feeling grubby after his journey he was happy to strip and plunge into the latter. When he emerged there was a masseur waiting to knead whatever strains he had suffered from his muscles and a very pretty girl with long brown hair to pour small drops of warm, scented oil onto his sweating flesh, which she then scraped to clean the pores. Such indulgence would never have been allowed in the Falerii household; Lucius, though often to be found at the public baths, frowned on such display, ever ready to accuse those who delighted in such luxury as vulgar and un-Roman.

  At that time, Lucius was being very Roman indeed, trying to gauge just how much Barbinus was prepared to pay to get into his good offices. Like most rich men, the host hankered after more wealth and he had in his house a man who could not only secure his standing but provide him with more opportunities for profit than anyone else in the Senate. But Barbinus also craved respectability; he had reached his senatorial status because of his money, but had never served in any of the offices that fell to men of that rank and that left him vulnerable. Too old to begin the cursus honarium he still craved the eminence that went with such service to the Republic. Lucius Falerius was in a position to satisfy those desires.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The wagon, a barred travelling cage, that arrived an hour after these important visitors had Aquila on his feet, moving out of the shade of a tree and down the slope for a closer look. He was not alone, nearly every youngster in the village had followed it to the gate of the Barbinus property, jumping up and down and pointing at the two big cats. They paced back and forth in a restless manner, eyes ranging hungrily over the excited crowd. The sheep he had with him must have picked up a scent, because they were running up the hill, to huddle against the fencing that bordered the nearest wood. There were wildcats and lynx out in the woods he hunted in, but he had never seen anything like these. Their coats were yellow, the spots black and numerous and the bodies of both creatures sleek and lithe. Not as big as Minca they looked just as dangerous, baring teeth that were twice the size. Luckily the sutler brought his wagon past the front entrance to the villa and manoeuvred it close to the rear boundary of the property, thus affording Aquila a good close look.

  ‘Leopards,’ the sutler replied when asked, ‘from Africa.’

  ‘Fierce?’ asked Aquila, coming right up to the fence for a closer look.

  ‘Can be, lad,’ the man replied, as he unhitched his oxen. ‘But these pair have been tamed for household pets.’

  ‘Who tamed them?’

  ‘I did.’ The oxen were led to the stone water trough as Aquila examined the cats more closely, able now to see quite clearly the collars they wore. He resumed his interrogation as soon as the sutler returned. ‘Easy, really. They have to be taken young, which usually means killing the mother, then they are reared by human hand so that they get used to us. Keep ’em fed on milk and such like and they forget they’re hunters. Doesn’t last mind. I always tell my clients to keep them for three of four years then sell them on to a stadium owner for a fight. They get fractious as they get older and are just as like to take a nip out of a human if the mood changes.’

  ‘Why not breed them?’

  Both Aquila and the sutler turned at the sound of the new voice. What they saw was a dark-haired, swarthy youth in a fine wool cloak, open to reveal a snow-white smock held at the waist by a rope of knotted leather, capped at each end by gold stops. Aquila could see that his sandals were as soft and well made as the voice, that his damp hair had been cut and combed so that the curls neatly fringed his forehead.

  ‘Ain’t worth it, young sir,’ the sutler replied. ‘You has to feed ’em while they breed and lay a litter and that takes meat which is dear to buy. Best to bring the creatures in from Africa. There’s plenty there as well as locals only too happy to hunt them down for a copper ass or two.’

  Aquila had backed away, turning to go back to his sheep. It was not fear that made him withdraw, more the natural embarrassment of a poor youth in too close proximity to one who was clearly the opposite. To the sutler he was ‘lad’; the other boy was ‘young sir’. It was impossible not to look on such a person and not feel inadequate, with his own messy hair, greasy leather cap and homespun clothes. He had no experience of rich people, only ever having once or twice seen Barbinus at a distance as he came to or left the ranch, but he knew he did not like them; they ordered folk about, and that was something Aquila did not fancy. But he did turn to watch him from a distance, noticing the way the sutler’s shoulders dipped to acknowledge the rank of the boy with whom he was conversing.

  For reasons he could not quite fathom he tried to imagine what it would be like to fight him; they were of a size, just as well developed even if the stranger’s skin did shine. Aquila decided he liked the idea, and reckoned he could take him, even as he put the notion aside, knowing that even to raise his fist could see him flogged. That scented prick was one of Barbinus’ guests; touch him and the consequences would be dire. He moved even further away when Fat Barbinus emerged, waddling his way towards the wagon containing the cats.

  ‘Fine beasts, are they not, Master Marcellus,’ Barbinus boomed, in a voice loud enough for Aquila to hear.

  ‘Beautiful, sir,’ the boy replied, his voice dropping as the fat senator came closer. ‘They move with such elegance.’

  Had his swarthy complexion not been tanned by a summer of sun, Barbinus would have seen Marcellus blush then. The contrast between the way Barbinus moved, legs thrown wide so each could get past the other corpulent thigh, was such a contrast to the easy way the cats slunk back and forth in their cage.

  ‘Wait till you see them out, boy,’ Barbinus said, nodding to the sutler to oblige.

  From the moment he picked up the stout leather leads the cats grew excited, jumping about so much that everyone allowed themselves a safe backward step. The mobile cage had a double set of doors, the outer one of which the sutler shut before opening the inner. Both cats, as soon as he was close enough, began to rub themselves against him, purring loudly as he stroked them behind the ears, and allowing their collar to be attached with ease. It needed muscle to hold them as they emer
ged, but on the ground they ceased to strain, and stood together either side of the man who had reared them, proud, colourful and magnificent.

  ‘Beauties,’ Barbinus said.

  ‘You should stroke them, sir. The sooner they get to know you the better.’

  ‘They’re not for me, fellow, they are a gift for my guests.’

  It took Marcellus a second to register that he was a guest, a look of disbelief to realise that Barbinus was smiling at him and a jaw that dropped unbidden at the realisation of the truth.

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Strictly speaking, your father, but something tells me you may warm to the gift just as much as he.’ Marcellus looked around then for a sight of Lucius, till Barbinus enlightened him. ‘He has agreed to use my bath house after all, though being the man he is he has taken his scribe in there with him. I daresay the poor man is sweltering as he tries to write his despatches.’

  ‘The farms?’

  ‘Are mine,’ Barbinus replied.

  This time the smile was fixed and humourless. Lucius had fleeced him, selling the Sicilian property for an inflated price, making him regret sending for the gift with which he intended to seal the bargain. He consoled himself with the thought that they had been so badly run by the Falerii overseers that, even if he could not turn them into profitable plots, he could certainly make them pay more.

  ‘You wish to take hold of them, young sir?’

  Marcellus responded tentatively to that, the hesitation as he stepped forward obvious, especially as both cats strained to sniff at his bare knees and sandalled feet, their purring loud and vibrant. It took a hefty tug from the sutler to pull them close and make them sit, an act that had more to do with his tight short grip on the leads than obedience to the verbal command. Marcellus stepped up beside him, taking first one lead and then the other. The sutler kept the whip, which had been coiled in his right hand.

  ‘Now young sir, walk slowly and they will do likewise.’ The sutler was right. Sleek heads sniffing the air, the two cats matched his pace as he walked round the paddock. ‘I’d be obliged if you was to keep them clear of my oxen. Tame they might be, but that is no thicker than the skin on their back.’

  Barbinus barked to his own servants to get the oxen away from the trough and into a stockade, as Marcellus, feeling like a Persian tyrant, paraded round the paddock. The sutler stayed close enough to talk to him, instructing him when it was safe to let go of a bit of slack on the leash, and when to pull them in as they fought against the constraint.

  ‘Not much different to a dog, young sir. Check ’em when they’re young and they’ll behave ever after.’

  Marcellus stopped a few feet from Barbinus, hauling hard to bring their collar right up to his knuckles, pleased with the way the cats sat down, one finger stretching out to stoke a short ear, which produced an immediate reprise of the loud purring.

  ‘You have a way with them, young sir.’

  ‘What happens if they are unleashed.’

  ‘Indoors it don’t signify and they are peerless in the guarding line. The gods help any felon who breaks into a house where they are inside.’

  ‘They would attack him?’

  ‘That they would, and like as not kill the fellow, but it would be a bad idea to let them roam, for they would be just as like to attack a stranger in the street, which would never do.’

  ‘They look too tame to harm anyone,’ said Barbinus.

  ‘That’s the training your honour, at which I humbly beg to say, I am an expert, but the wild creature lurks, and given a sniff of a chance they will revert.’

  ‘Show me!’ Barbinus snapped. Marcellus looked at the deep sunk eyes then, trying and failing to read what was going on behind them.

  The sutler looked set to argue, but faced with the bulk of Barbinus he turned to a crouch and wheedling tone. ‘Bad for ’em, your honour. If they are let loose now that fence twixt the cats and my oxen won’t stop them.’

  Barbinus looked out into the field where Aquila, back standing under his tree, leaning on a long staff, was watching, then to the sheep still huddled at the top of the hill against the fence that cut off the forest. There was a gate halfway along, which he ordered opened, a command that brought a look of alarm to the sutler’s face.

  ‘Marcellus Falerius. I bid you take them into that field. Let them sniff the presence of the sheep.’

  Aquila was mystified by what was happening as the gate swung open and the cats were led through. Barbinus stayed on the other side as it was closed again, only the sutler and that rich boy with the cats this side of the fence. When the latter untied the leads his bewilderment increased. Neither leopard ran off, they stayed close to their human minder, sat at his feet, nuzzling his hands. It was as if freedom was such a strange thing that they had no idea how to exploit it, but that did not last. First one then the other sniffed the grass, no doubt picking up scents that appealed to their instincts. Slowly, as they circled the grass, the distance between them and the two humans grew wider. He could not know, because he was too far away to see or hear, that the sutler, who had loosed his coiled whip, was warning Marcellus to stay absolutely still, worried that, though the cats knew him well, they did not know this boy at all.

  The leopards ceased to sniff the grass and lifted their heads to search for scents on the air. Then they began to lope around, heads jerking left and right, as the sheep at the top of the field began to bleat, a sound that attracted their attention. The flock began to break up just as Aquila moved, staff held out, his hat flying off as he sought to get between the cats and what was sure to become their prey. Concentrating on protection, he had no time to appreciate, as Marcellus did, the perfection of movement that followed. First the single stiff steps as each cat edged forward, which quickened into a loping trot as they increased the gap between them. Working together they cast left and right to isolate the now scattering sheep, selecting a target that because of their positions would have no chance of escape.

  At that pace Aquila thought he had a chance to intervene but when the two cats had made their decision they leapt forward at a rate that turned them almost into a blur. He was oblivious to the shouts from below, from Barbinus a bellow of annoyance, from the sutler a shout to stop lest he become the prey. In the event Aquila was nowhere near the kill and had the sense to stop as it happened. One cat hit the running sheep just behind the neck while the other sank long teeth into the back of its leg, dragging it down. The animal was dead within seconds, with both leopards shaking powerful necks to rip into the flesh. As the sutler had moved, the rich boy, with the two leads still in his hand, moved with him, ignoring his instructions to stay put and walking up the hill.

  Marcellus heard the man cursing Barbinus for undoing the work of nearly a year, words that the purchaser of these leopards could not hear. Realising that the young nobleman was still with him, he put up his hand.

  ‘Best not go too close, young sir, they’ve tasted running meat.’ Forward progress was then an inching forward, to the point where the nearest leopard lifted his head and snarled. ‘That’s as close as we dare get.’

  ‘What happens now?’ asked Marcellus.

  ‘We have to let them feed, then let’s see what happens. They might come back onto the leads. If not, then I’ll have to net them, and if they rear up at me then they’ll either have to be speared or let loose.’

  ‘Cassius Barbinus won’t like that.’

  The object of that remark was smiling, still behind the fence, thinking that as a gift these two cats had taken on an added virtue. They could kill, and perhaps in Rome they would do that to the avaricious bastard who had just stung him for so much money. Perhaps, one night, they would eat Lucius Falerius.

  Aquila took his cue from the sutler, staying the same distance as he from the cats gorging on the bloody carcass. Spying him, the man called out. ‘Best get the rest of that flock out of here while you can, lad. And take them by a route that keeps them well away from this pair.’

  As h
e walked across the slope, in an arc that took him round the leopards, Aquila glared at the well-dressed Roman youth with the two useless leads swinging free in his hand. He wanted to kill him now, not fight him. Marcellus, lifting his own eyes, observed a boy of about his own age, poorly dressed, but tall and quite muscular. The colouring intrigued him; golden hair tinged with red and fair light-brown skin. But the eyes did more than that; bright blue, they were fixed on his, and even at a distance he could almost feel the hate.

  ‘Just some angry peasant,’ he murmured to himself, as his attention went back to the sound of crunching bones and the sight of tearing flesh.

  Barbinus, watching Aquila move away, wondered who he was. With so many slaves in his possession he had no idea what they all did, but he visited this place quite often and he could not recall seeing that particular youth. His overseer would know.

  ‘There nothing about it to do, Aquila,’ Gadoric insisted. ‘You did well get the other sheep back to pens. Besides, they property of Cassius Barbinus. If he want to feed them to pets instead of guests, that his business.’

  ‘If you or I did it, we would be strung up.’

  ‘I no deny it, but that way of the world.’

  ‘It would have been different if Minca had been there.’

  The dog raised its huge head at the mention of its name, but dropped it quickly when he heard the harsh tone of Gadoric’s reply, this time talking in his own language, slowly so Aquila could understand.

  ‘The two cats like you’ve described would have seen to him, a bit slower than a sheep I grant you, but they’d have killed him nevertheless. I know because there are beasts like that in the mountains where I fought, maybe not the same colouring but the same nature. Don’t you ever take chances just for pride, for there’s precious little of that left in a carcass. With odds too great to conquer you withdraw and bide your time. Take your enemy when it suits you, not them. If the men who led us against the Romans had thought that way I wouldn’t be here now.’