‘Do not forget the curfew. Be inside as the sun sets, my friend. They are still killing everyone left on the streets after dark.’
Renius nodded. ‘I’ll watch out.’
He turned his horse away and Gaius reached out to put a hand on his good right arm.
‘You’re not leaving? I thought …’
‘I must check my house. I need to think alone for a while. I don’t feel ready to settle down with the other old men, not any more. I will be back tomorrow dawn to see you and … well, tomorrow dawn it is.’ He smiled and rode away.
As he trotted down the hill, Gaius noted again the darkness of his hair and the energy that filled the man’s frame. He turned and looked at Cabera, who shrugged.
‘Gatekeeper!’ Tubruk shouted. ‘Attend to us.’
After the heat of the Roman streets, the cool stone corridors that led into the house grounds were a welcome relief. The horses and bags had been whisked away and the five visitors were taken into the first building, beckoned on by an elderly slave.
They stopped at a door of gold wood and the slave opened it, gesturing inside.
‘You will find all you need, Master Gaius. Consul Marius has given you leave to wash and change after your journey. You are not expected to appear before him until sunset, three hours from now, when you will dine. Shall I show your companions the way to the servants’ rooms?’
‘No. They will stay with me.’
‘As you wish, master. Shall I take the girl to the slave quarters?’
Gaius nodded slowly, thinking.
‘Treat her with kindness. She is a friend of my house.’
‘Of course, sir,’ replied the man, motioning to Alexandria.
She flashed a glance at Gaius and the expression was unreadable in her dark eyes.
Without another word, the quiet little man left, his sandals making no noise on the stone floor. The others looked at one another, each taking some form of comfort from the company of friends.
‘I think she likes me, that one,’ Marcus mused to himself.
Gaius looked at him in surprise and Marcus shrugged. ‘Lovely legs, as well.’ He went in to their quarters, chuckling, leaving Gaius stupefied behind him.
Cabera whistled softly as he entered the room. The ceiling was forty feet from the mosaic floor, a series of brass rafters that crossed and recrossed the space. The walls were painted in the dark reds and oranges that they had seen so often since entering the city, but the floor was the thing that caught the attention, even before they looked up at the vault of a roof. It was a series of circles, gripping a marble fountain in the middle of the huge room. Each circle contained running figures, racing to catch the one in front and frozen in the attempt. The outer circles were figures from the markets, carrying their wares, then, as the eye followed the circles inwards, different aspects of society could be seen. There were the slaves, the magistrates, the members of the Senate, legionaries, doctors. One circle contained only kings, naked except for their crowns. The innermost ring, forming a belt around the actual fountain, contained pictures of the gods and they alone were still. They stood looking up at all the running hordes that sprinted around but could never leap from one circle to another.
Gaius walked across the rings to the fountain and drank, using a cup that rested on the marble edge. In truth, he was tired and, impressed as he was by the beauty of the room, the most important fact was that no food or couches were included in the splendour. The others followed him through an arch into the next room.
‘This is more like it,’ Marcus said cheerfully. A polished table was laid with food: meat, bread, eggs, vegetables and fish. Fruit was piled in bowls of gold. Soft couches stood around invitingly, but another door led onwards and Gaius could not resist looking.
The third room had a deep pool in the centre. The water steamed invitingly and bare wooden benches lined the walls, piled high with soft white cloths. Robes hung from stands by the water and four male slaves stood by low tables, ready to give massage if needed.
‘Excellent,’ Tubruk said. ‘Your uncle is a fine host, Gaius. I am for a bath first, before I eat.’ As he spoke, he began to pull off his clothes. One of the slaves walked to him and held out an arm for the garments as they were removed. When Tubruk was naked, the slave disappeared with them out of the only door. A few moments later, another entered and took up his place at the tables.
Tubruk lowered himself completely into the water, holding his breath as he slid below the surface and relaxing every muscle in the heat. By the time he surfaced, Gaius and Marcus had scrambled out of their garments, flung them at another slave and plunged into the opposite end, naked and laughing.
A slave held his arm out for Cabera’s clothes and the old man frowned at him. Then he sighed and began stripping the robe from his skinny body.
‘Always new experiences,’ he said as he eased into the water, wincing.
‘Shoulders, lad,’ Tubruk called to one of the attendants.
The man nodded and knelt at the side of the pool, pressing his thumbs into Tubruk’s muscles, unknotting the stresses that had been there since the slave attack on the estate.
‘Good,’ Tubruk sighed and he began to doze, lulled by the heat.
Marcus was first out onto the massage table, lying on the smooth cloth and steaming in the colder air. The nearest slave detached some instruments from his belt, almost like a set of long brass keys. He poured warm olive oil on liberally and then began to scrape Marcus’ wet skin, as if he was skinning a fish, working the dirt of the journey off the surface and wiping a surprising amount of black filth onto a cloth at his waist. Then he rubbed the skin dry and poured a little more oil on for the massage, beginning great sweeping strokes along the spine.
Marcus groaned with satisfaction. ‘Gaius, I think I’m going to like it here,’ he muttered through slack lips.
Gaius lay in the water and let his mind drift free. Marius might not want to have the two boys around. He had no children of his own and the gods knew it was a difficult time for the Republic. All the fragile freedoms his father had loved were coming under threat with soldiers on every corner. As consul, Marius was one of the two most powerful men in the city, but, with Sulla’s legion on the streets, his power became a fiction, his life at Sulla’s whim. Yet how could Gaius protect his father’s interests without his uncle’s help? He had to be introduced to the Senate, sponsored by another. He could not just take his father’s old place; they would throw him out and that would be the end of everything. Surely the blood tie to his mother would be worth a little help, but Gaius could not be sure. Marius was the golden general who had dropped in on his sister occasionally when Gaius was small. But the visits had become fewer and fewer as her illness progressed and it had been years since the last visit.
‘Gaius?’ Marcus’ voice interrupted his thoughts. ‘Come and have a massage. You’re thinking too much again.’
Gaius grinned at his friend and rose from the water. It did not occur to him to be embarrassed at his nakedness. No one was.
‘Cabera? Ever had a massage?’ he asked as he passed the old man, whose eyes were drooping.
‘No, but I’ll try anything once,’ Cabera replied, wading towards the steps.
‘You’re in the right city then,’ Tubruk chuckled, eyes closed.
Clean and cool in fresh clothes and with the edge taken off their hunger, the four were escorted to Marius at sundown. As a slave, Alexandria did not accompany them, and for a moment Gaius was disappointed. When she was with them, he hardly knew what to say to her, but when she was gone his mind filled with clever pieces of wit that he could never quite remember to say later. He had not brought up the kiss in the stables with her and wondered if she thought of it as often as he did. He cleared his mind of her, knowing he had to be sharp and focused to meet a consul of Rome.
A portly slave stopped them outside the door to the chamber and fussed with their clothing, producing a carved ivory comb to pull Marcus’ curls back into place
and straightening Tubruk’s jacket. As the fleshy fingers approached Cabera, the old man’s hands shot out and slapped them away.
‘Don’t touch!’ he snapped waspishly.
The slave’s face remained blank and he carried on improving the others. At last he was satisfied, although he permitted himself a frown at Cabera.
‘The master and mistress are present this evening. Bow first to the master as you present yourselves and keep your eyes on the floor as you bow. Then bow to Mistress Metella, an inch or two less deep. If your barbarian slave requires it, he can knock his head on the floor a few times as well.’
Cabera opened his mouth to retort, but the slave turned away and pushed the doors open.
Gaius entered first and saw a beautiful room with a garden in the centre, open to the sky. Around the rectangle of the garden was a walkway, with other rooms leading off it. Columns of white stone held the overhang of roof and the walls were painted with scenes from Roman history: the victories of Scipio, the conquest of Greece. Marius and his wife Metella stood to receive their guests and Gaius forced a smile onto his face, suddenly feeling very young and very awkward.
As he approached, he could see the man sizing him up and wondered what conclusions he was drawing. For his own part, Marius was an impressive figure. General of a hundred campaigns, he wore a loose toga that left his right arm and shoulder bare, revealing massive musculature and a dark weave of hair on the chest and forearms. He wore no jewellery or adornment of any kind, as if such things were unnecessary to a man of his stature. He stood straight and radiated strength and will. His face was stern and dark-brown eyes glared out from under heavy brows. Every feature revealed the city of his birth. His arms were clasped behind him and he said nothing as Gaius approached and bowed.
Metella had once been a beauty, but time and worry had clawed at her face, lines of some nameless grief gripping her skin with an old woman’s talons. She seemed tense, the cords of sinew on her neck standing out. Her hands quivered slightly as she looked at him. She wore a simple dress of red cloth, complemented with earrings and bracelets of bright gold.
‘My sister’s son is always welcome in my house,’ Marius said, his voice filling the space.
Gaius almost sagged with relief, but held himself firm.
Marcus came up beside him and bowed smoothly. Metella locked eyes with him and the quivering in her hands increased. Gaius caught Marius’ sideways glance of worry at her as she stepped forward.
‘Such beautiful boys,’ she said, holding out her hands. Bemused, they took one each. ‘What you have suffered in the uprising! What you have seen!’
She put a hand to Marcus’ cheek. ‘You will be safe here, do you understand? Our home is your home, for as long as you want.’
Marcus put his hand up to cover hers and whispered, ‘Thank you.’ He seemed more comfortable with the strange woman than Gaius was. Her intensity reminded him too painfully of his own mother.
‘Perhaps you could check on the arrangements for the meal, my dear, while I discuss business with the boys,’ Marius boomed cheerfully from behind them.
She nodded and left, with a backward glance at Marcus.
Marius cleared his throat.
‘I think my wife likes you,’ he said. ‘The gods have not blessed us with children of our own and I think you will bring her comfort.’
His gaze passed over them.
‘Tubruk – I see you are still the concerned guardian. I heard you fought well in the defence of my sister’s house.’
‘I did my duty, sir. It was not enough in the end.’
‘The son lives, and his mother. Julius would say that was enough,’ Marius replied. At this, his eyes returned to Gaius.
‘I can see your father’s face in yours. I am sorry for his leaving. I cannot say we were truly friends, but we had respect for each other, which is more honest than many friendships. I could not attend his funeral, but he was in my thoughts and prayers.’
Gaius felt the beginnings of liking for this man. Perhaps that is his talent, warned an inner voice. Perhaps that is why he has been elected so many times. He is a man whom others follow.
‘Thank you. He always spoke well of you,’ he replied out loud.
Marius laughed, a short bark.
‘I doubt it. How is your mother, is she … the same?’
‘Much the same, sir. The doctors despair.’
Marius nodded, his face betraying nothing. ‘You must call me uncle from now on, I think. Yes. Uncle suits me well. And you, who is this?’ Once again, his eyes and focus had switched without warning, this time to Cabera, who looked back impassively.
‘He is a priest and healer, my adviser. Cabera is his name,’ Gaius replied.
‘Where are you from, Cabera? Those are not Roman features.’
‘The distant east, sir. My home is not known in Rome.’
‘Try me. I have travelled far with my legion in my lifetime.’ Marius did not blink, his gaze was relentless.
Cabera didn’t seem perturbed by it.
‘A hill village a thousand miles east of Aegyptus. I left it as a boy and the name is lost to me. I too have travelled far since then.’
The flame gaze snapped away as Marius lost interest. He looked again at the two boys.
‘My house is your home from now on. I presume Tubruk will be returning to your estate?’
Gaius nodded.
‘Good. I will arrange your entrance to the Senate as soon as I have sorted out a few problems of my own. Do you know Sulla?’
Gaius was painfully aware that he was being assessed. ‘He controls Rome at present.’
Marius frowned, but Gaius went on: ‘His legion patrols the streets and that gives him a great deal of influence.’
‘You are correct. I see living on a farm hasn’t kept you completely away from the affairs of the city. Come and sit down. Do you drink wine? No? Then this is as good a time as any to learn.’
As they sat on couches around the food-laden table, Marius bowed his head and began to pray aloud: ‘Great Mars. Grant that I make the right decisions in the difficult days to come.’ He straightened and grinned at them, motioning for a slave to pour wine.
‘Your father could have been a great general, if he had wanted,’ Marius said. ‘He had the sharpest mind I have ever encountered, but chose to keep his interests small. He did not understand the reality of power – that a strong man can be above the rules and laws of his neighbours.’
‘He set great stock by the laws of Rome,’ Gaius replied, after a moment’s thought.
‘Yes. It was his one failing. Do you know how many times I have been elected consul?’
‘Three,’ Marcus put in.
‘Yet the law only allows one term. I shall be elected again and again until I grow tired of the game. I am a dangerous man to refuse, you see. It comes down to that, for all the laws and regulations that are so dear to the old men of the Senate. My legion is loyal to me and me alone. I abolished the land qualification to join, so many of them owe their only livelihood to me. True, some of them are the scrapings of the gutters of Rome, but loyal and strong despite their origins and birth.
‘Five thousand men would tear this city apart if I were assassinated, so I walk the streets in safety. They know what will happen if I die, do you see?
‘If they can’t kill me, they have to accommodate me, except that Sulla has finally come into the game, with a legion of his own, loyal only to him. I can’t kill him and he can’t kill me, so we growl at each other across the Senate floor and wait for a weakness. At present, he has the advantage. His men are in the streets as you say, whereas mine are camped outside the walls. Stalemate. Do you play latrunculi? I have a board here.’
This last question was to Gaius, who blinked and shook his head.
‘I will teach you. Sulla is a master, and so am I. It is a good game for generals. The idea is to kill the enemy king, or to remove his power so that he is helpless and must surrender.’
A s
oldier entered in full, shining uniform. He saluted with a stiff right arm.
‘General. The men you requested have arrived. They entered the city from different directions and gathered here.’
‘Excellent! You see, Gaius, another move in the game is upon us. Fifty of my men are with me in my home. Unless Sulla has spies on every gate, he will not know they have entered the city. If he guesses my intentions, there will be a century from his legion waiting outside at daybreak, but all life is a gamble, yes?’
He addressed the guard.
‘We will leave at dawn. Make sure my slaves look after the men. I will come along in a while.’
The soldier saluted again and left.
‘What are you going to do?’ Marcus asked, feeling completely out of his depth.
Marius rose and flexed his shoulders. He called a slave over and told him to prepare his uniform, ready for dawn.
‘Have you ever seen a Triumph?’
‘No. I don’t think there has been one for a few years,’ Gaius replied.
‘It is the right of every general who has captured new lands: to march his legion through the streets of his beloved capital city and receive the love of the crowd and the thanks of the Senate.
‘I have captured vast tracts of lush farming land in northern Africa, like Scipio before me. Yet a Triumph has been denied me by Sulla, who has the Senate under his thumb at the moment. He says the city has seen too much upheaval, but that is not the reason. What is his reason?’
‘He does not want your men in the city, under any pretext,’ Gaius said quickly.
‘Good, so what must I do?’
‘Bring them in anyway?’ Gaius hazarded.
Marius froze. ‘No. This is my beloved capital city. It has never had a hostile force enter its gates. I will not be the first. That is blind force, which is always chancy. No, I am going to ask! Dawn is in six hours. I suggest you get a little sleep, gentlemen. Just let one of the slaves know when you want to be taken to your rooms. Good night.’ He chuckled and strode off, leaving the four of them alone.
‘He …’ Cabera began, but Tubruk held up a warning finger, motioning with his eyes at the slaves who stood by so unobtrusively.
The Emperor Series: Books 1-5 Page 15