‘Alexander had the greedy fingers of a merchant,’ Maecenas said. ‘Always busy, busy, and what did it get him? All those years of fighting, but if he had known he would die young in a foreign land, don’t you think he would rather have spent it in the sun? If he were here, you could ask him. I think he would choose fine wine and beautiful women over his endless battles. But you have not answered my question, Octavian. Greece ruled the world, so why should Rome be any different? In a thousand years, some other nation will rule, after us.’ He paused to wave away a plate of sliced meat and smile at two old ladies, knowing they could not understand what he was saying.
Octavian shook his head. With exaggerated care, he put his cup down and counted on his fingers as Maecenas had done.
‘One, because we cannot be beaten in war. Two … because we are the envy of every people ruled by petty kings. They want to become us, not overthrow those they envy. Three … I cannot think of three. My argument rests on two.’
‘Two is not enough!’ Maecenas replied. ‘I might have been confounded with three, but two! The Greeks were the greatest fighting men in the world once.’ He gestured as if throwing a pinch of dust into the air. ‘That for their greatness, all gone. That for the Spartans, who terrified an army of Persians with just a few hundred. The other nations will learn from us, copy our methods and tactics. I admit I cannot imagine our soldiers losing to filthy tribes, no matter what tricks they steal, but it could happen. The other point, though – they want what we have? Yes, and we wanted the culture of the Greeks. But we did not come quietly like gentlemen and ask for it. No, Octavian! We took it and then we copied their gods and built our temples and pretended it was all our own idea. One day, someone will do the same to us and we will not know how it happened. There are your two points, in ashes under my sandals.’ He raised a foot and pointed to the ground. ‘Can you see them? Can you see your arguments?’
There was a grunt from another bench, where Agrippa was lying stretched out.
‘The ape awakes!’ Maecenas said cheerfully. ‘Has our salty friend something to add? What news from the fleet?’
Agrippa was built on a different scale from the villagers, making the bench groan and flex under his bulk. As he shifted, he overbalanced and caught himself with a muscular arm pressed against the ground. With a sigh, he sat up and glared at Maecenas, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his bare knees.
‘I could not sleep with you two clucking.’
‘Your snoring calls you a liar, though I would not,’ Maecenas replied, accepting another full cup.
Agrippa rubbed his face with his hands, scratching the curls of black beard he had grown over the previous weeks.
‘So I will say only this,’ Agrippa went on, stifling a yawn, ‘before I find a better and a quieter place to sleep. There will be no empire to follow us because we have wealth enough to withstand any new tribe or nation. We pay for men by the hundred thousand, swords and spears by the million across all our lands. Who could stand against us without the full might of Caesar falling on his neck?’
‘It is always about money with you, isn’t it, Agrippa?’ Maecenas replied, his eyes bright with amusement. He enjoyed needling the bigger man and they both knew it. ‘You still think like a merchant’s son. I am not surprised, of course. It is in your blood and you cannot help it, but while Rome is full of merchants, it is the noble classes who will decide her future, her destiny.’
Agrippa snorted. The evening had grown cold and he rubbed his bare arms
‘According to you, a noble man would spend his day in the sun, with wine and beautiful women,’ Agrippa said.
‘You were listening! I don’t know how you do it, snoring all the while. It is a rare talent.’
Agrippa smiled, showing very white teeth against his black beard.
‘Be thankful for my blood, Maecenas. Men like my father built Rome and made her strong. Men like you rode pretty horses and gave impressive speeches, just as Aristotle and Socrates once held court in the agora.’
‘I sometimes forget you have been educated, Agrippa. Something about you says illiterate peasant whenever I look at you.’
‘And something about you says that you enjoy the company of men more than most.’
Octavian groaned at the bickering. His head was swimming and he had lost all track of time.
‘Peace, you two. I think we’ve eaten and drunk an entire winter’s store for these people. Apologise and join me in another jug.’
Maecenas raised his eyebrows. ‘Still awake? Remember that you owe me a gold aureus if you fall asleep or vomit before me. I am feeling very fresh.’
Octavian held his gaze for a moment, waiting until Maecenas gave way with a grunt.
‘Very well, Octavian. I apologise for suggesting Agrippa’s skull would find its best use as a battering ram.’
‘You did not say that,’ Octavian replied.
‘I was thinking it,’ Maecenas said.
‘And you, Agrippa? Will you be as noble?’
‘I struggle to reach his level, Octavian, but as you ask, I apologise for saying he would not earn as much as he thinks, renting himself out by the hour.’
Maecenas began to laugh, but then his face grew pale and he turned aside to empty his stomach. One of the old women muttered something he did not catch.
‘That is an aureus you owe me,’ Octavian told Maecenas with satisfaction. His friend only groaned.
CHAPTER TWO
As the sun rose the following morning, Maecenas was silent and in pain, though he forced himself out of his bed to join Agrippa in the courtyard. The Greek house they had rented for the period of leave was small, though it came with a house slave to look after them. With one eye closed against the sun, Maecenas squinted at the other man, watching him limber up.
‘Where is Octavian?’ he asked. ‘Still sleeping?’
‘Here,’ Octavian said, coming out. His hair was slick with cold water and he looked pale and ill, but he raised a hand in greeting to his two friends. ‘I don’t even remember coming back. Gods, my head is cracked, I’m sure of it. Did I fall?’
‘Into a jug, perhaps. Otherwise, no,’ Agrippa replied cheerfully. Of the three, he seemed best able to shrug off vast quantities of alcohol and he enjoyed watching the other two suffer.
‘What plans for our last days of leave, Octavian?’ Maecenas asked. ‘I’m sure you are tempted to spend them educating the local children, or perhaps helping the farmers in their fields. However, I heard of a private boxing match this evening. I’m waiting for an address still, but it should be worth watching.’
Octavian shook his head.
‘The last one turned into a riot, which is no surprise as they almost always do. The same goes for the cockfights. And don’t mock; you know I was right. Those men needed killing.’
Maecenas looked away rather than argue.
‘We have two more days of leave, gentlemen,’ Agrippa said. ‘It might be a better idea to spend those days running and training. I don’t want to go back to my ship with the wind of an old man.’
‘You see, that is just a lack of imagination, Agrippa,’ Maecenas said. ‘First of all, you are already an old man …’
‘Two years older than you, at twenty-two, but go on,’ Agrippa interrupted.
‘… and you carry too much weight on your bones, like a bullock. Those of us who have not wasted years lifting heavy weights do not lose fitness so easily. We are racehorses, you see, if the metaphor is not immediately clear.’
‘Shall we test your speed against my strength?’ Agrippa asked, smiling unpleasantly.
Maecenas eyed the heavy training sword Agrippa was swishing through the air.
‘You battered me near senseless last time, which was not sporting. In a real duel, I would cut you up, my friend, but these wooden swords filled with lead? They are clubs for peasants and you swing yours with abandon. The idea is not appealing.’ His closed eye opened and he squinted against the sunlight. ‘Still, I have been giving i
t some thought, since your last instruction.’
‘I meant you to learn a lesson, so I am pleased,’ Agrippa replied.
There was a growing tension on the sandy yard. Maecenas did not enjoy being bested in anything and Octavian knew it had rankled with him to be knocked around like a child. For one of Agrippa’s bulk and strength, the wooden swords could be almost ignored, allowing him to land a punch or a blow that sent Maecenas reeling. He opened his mouth to distract them, but Maecenas had spotted a rack of throwing spears along a wall, long Roman weapons with iron tips and a wooden shaft. His face lit up.
‘A different weapon might allow me to demonstrate a few points to you, perhaps,’ Maecenas said.
Agrippa snorted. ‘So I should let you have three feet of reach over me?’ His eyes glinted, though whether it was anger or amusement, it was impossible to tell.
‘If you are afraid, I will understand,’ Maecenas said. ‘No? Excellent.’ He walked to the rack and removed one of the long weapons, feeling the heft of it.
Agrippa brought his wooden sword up across his body. He wore only leggings, sandals and a loose tunic and did not enjoy Maecenas gesturing with a throwing spear near him.
‘Come, Maecenas,’ Octavian said uncomfortably. ‘We will find something good to do today.’
‘I have already found something good to do,’ Maecenas replied. He closed the distance quickly, jerking his arm back to make Agrippa flinch. The big man shook his head.
‘Are you sure? That is a weapon for soldiers, not noblemen.’
‘It will do, I think,’ Maecenas replied. As he spoke, he jabbed the point at Agrippa’s broad chest, then back and again at his groin. ‘Oh yes, it will do very well indeed. Defend yourself, ape.’
Agrippa watched Maecenas closely, reading his footwork and stance as well as his eyes. They had sparred many times before and both men knew the other’s style. Octavian found himself a bench and sat down, knowing from experience that he would not be able to drag them away until they’d finished. Though they were friends, both men were used to winning and could not resist challenging each other. Octavian settled himself.
At first, Agrippa merely stepped back from the jabbing point that struck out at him. He frowned as it came close to his eyes, but slid away from it, raising his training gladius to block. Maecenas was enjoying having the big man on the defensive and began to show off a little, his feet quick on the sandy ground.
The end, when it came, was so sudden that Octavian almost missed it. Maecenas lunged fast and hard enough to score a wound. Agrippa blocked with the edge of his sword, then turned from the hip and smacked his left forearm into the spear. It snapped cleanly and Maecenas gaped at it. Agrippa laid his sword along Maecenas’ throat and grunted a laugh.
‘A victory,’ Agrippa said.
Without a word, Maecenas pushed the wooden sword away and reached down, picking up the broken half of his spear. It had been sawn almost through, the cut hidden with brown wax. His eyes widened and he strode back to the row of spears. He cursed as he examined the rest, snapping them one by one over his thigh. Agrippa began to laugh at his thunderous expression.
‘You did this?’ Maecenas demanded. ‘How long did it take you to prepare every spear? What sort of a man goes to such lengths? Gods, how did you even know I would choose one of them? You are a madman, Agrippa.’
‘I am a strategist, is what I am,’ Agrippa said, wiping tears from his right eye. ‘Oh, your face. I wish you could have seen it.’
‘This is not honourable behaviour,’ Maecenas muttered. To his irritation, Agrippa just laughed again.
‘I would rather be a peasant and win than be noble and lose. It is as simple as that, my friend.’
Octavian had risen to see the broken spears. With care, he kept any sign of amusement from his face, knowing that Maecenas would already be insufferable all day and he could only make it worse.
‘I heard there will be fresh oranges in the market this morning, packed in ice the whole way. Cold juice would help my head, I think. Can you shake hands and be friends for the day? It would please me.’
‘I am willing,’ Agrippa said. He held out his spade of a right hand. Maecenas allowed his to be enveloped.
The house slave came trotting into the yard as the two men shook with mock earnestness. Fidolus had always worked hard not to intrude on the guests and Octavian did not know him well, beyond finding him courteous and quiet.
‘Master, there is a messenger at the gate. He says he has letters from Rome for you.’
Octavian groaned. ‘I can feel them calling me back. Caesar is wondering where his favourite relative has gone, no doubt.’
Maecenas and Agrippa were looking at him, their expressions innocent. Octavian waved a hand.
‘He will wait a while longer. It’s been a year since we had the last leave, after all. Make the messenger comfortable, Fidolus. I am going to the market to buy fresh oranges.’
‘Yes, master,’ Fidolus replied.
The three young Romans did not return to the villa until just before sunset. They came in noisily, laughing and brash with three Greek women they had picked up. Maecenas had been the one to approach them in a jeweller’s, recommending pieces that would suit their colouring.
Octavian envied his friend’s talent – it was not one he had himself, despite the masterclass of watching Maecenas. There didn’t seem to be much magic to it. Maecenas had complimented the women outrageously, bantering back and forth as he made them try on various pieces. The shopkeeper had watched with patient indulgence, hoping for a sale. As far as Octavian could see, the young women had known from the outset what Maecenas was after, but his breezy confidence made a joke of it.
Octavian squeezed the slim waist of the woman he had brought home, trying hard to remember her name. He had a nasty suspicion that it was not ‘Lita’ and he was waiting for one of her friends to use her name again so he would not spoil the moment.
As they reached the gate to the house, Maecenas suddenly pressed his companion against the white-painted stone and kissed her, his hands wandering. She wore a new gold pendant at her throat, his gift. Each of the girls wore the same piece, bought with almost all the money they had pooled for the last few days of leave.
Agrippa had not been quite as lucky as the other two. It would have been extraordinary for all three women to be attractive and the one who clung to his arm was fairly heavily built herself, with a dark moustache along her upper lip. Nonetheless, Agrippa seemed pleased. It had been a while since they’d brought women back, and in a drought he could not afford to have high standards. Agrippa nuzzled at her bare shoulder with his beard, making her laugh while they waited for the gate to open.
It took only moments for the house slave Fidolus to come running and unbar the entrance. He looked flushed and his hands slipped on the bar as he heaved it up.
‘Master, thank the gods! You must see the messenger.’
Octavian stiffened in irritation. He had a beautiful Greek girl pressing her warmth into his side and the last thing he wanted was to think of Rome and the army.
‘Please, master,’ Fidolus said. He was almost shaking in the grip of some strong emotion and Octavian felt a stab of worry.
‘Is it my mother?’ he said.
Fidolus shook his head. ‘Please, he is waiting for you.’
Octavian stepped away from the woman on his arm.
‘Take me to him,’ he ordered.
Fidolus breathed in relief and Octavian followed him into the house at a fast walk, trying hard not to run.
Maecenas and Agrippa shared a glance, both men suspecting they would not be enjoying the evening in the way they had planned.
‘That does not sound good,’ Agrippa said. ‘Ladies, there is a bathing room here that has few equals. I suspect my friend Maecenas and I must attend our friend for a few hours, but if you are willing to wait …’ He saw their expressions. ‘No?’ He sighed. ‘Very well then. I will have Fidolus escort you back to the city.’
>
Maecenas shook his head. ‘Whatever it is, it will wait for a little while longer, I’m sure,’ he said, his eyes wide as he tried to dissuade Agrippa. The woman on his arm seemed equally reluctant and Agrippa grew flushed with sudden anger.
‘Do what you want, then. I will find out what is going on.’
He strode into the house, leaving the gate open. Maecenas raised his eyebrows.
‘I wonder if all three of you would consider teaching a young Roman more about Greece?’
Agrippa’s woman gasped, turning on her heel without a word. After twenty paces, she turned and called to her friends. They looked at each other and for a moment Maecenas thought his luck was in. Some silent communication passed between them.
‘Sorry, Maecenas, another time, perhaps.’
He watched wistfully as they swayed away, young and lithe and taking three gold pendants with them. He let out a sharp curse, then went inside, anger and frustration in every step.
Octavian reached the main hall almost at a run, his nervousness growing by the moment at the blank shock he could see in the house slave. He skidded to a halt when the messenger rose to greet him, holding out a package without a word.
Octavian broke his mother’s wax seal and read quickly. He took a deep breath, then another, feeling prickles rise on his neck and down his bare legs. He shook his head and took a step to sit down on a bench, reading the lines over and over.
‘Master,’ Fidolus began. The messenger leaned close as if he was trying to read the words.
‘Get out, both of you. Fetch my friends and then get out,’ he replied.
‘I was told to wait for a reply,’ the messenger said sourly.
Octavian surged out of the seat and grabbed the messenger by the front of his tunic, shoving him in the direction of the door.
‘Get out!’
In the courtyard, Agrippa and Maecenas both heard the shout. They drew swords and ran to their friend, passing the red-faced messenger as they entered the house.
Fidolus had lit the oil lamps and Octavian paced through twin pools of light. Maecenas was a study in calm, though his face was still pale. Agrippa tapped blunt fingers on his knee, the only sign of an inner agitation.
Emperor: The Blood of Gods (Special Edition) (Emperor Series, Book 5) Page 3