Clodia bustled in after her, carrying an armful of warm linen. She was never still, a woman of immense energy. To a stranger, there was nothing in her dress or manner to indicate her slavery. Even the jewels she wore were real and she chose her clothes from a sumptuous wardrobe.
‘Hurry! Dry yourself with these and put on this mamillare.’
Cornelia groaned. ‘It binds me too tightly to wear on hot days.’
‘It will keep your breasts from hanging like empty bags in a few years.’ Clodia snorted. ‘You’ll be pleased enough to have worn it then. Up! Out of that water, you lazy thing. There’s a glass of water on the side to clean your mouth.’
As Cornelia dabbed her body dry, Clodia laid out her robes and opened a series of small silver boxes of paint and oils.
‘On with this,’ she said, dropping a long white tunic over Cornelia’s outstretched arms. The girl shrugged herself into it and sat at the single table, propping up an oval bronze mirror to see herself.
‘I would like my hair to be curled,’ she said wistfully, holding a lock of it in her fingers. It was a dark gold, but straight for all its thickness.
‘Wouldn’t suit you, Lia. And there’s no time today. I should think your mother is already finished with her ornatrix and will be waiting for us. Simple, understated beauty is what we’re after today.’
‘A little ochre on the lips and cheeks then, unless you want to paint me with that stinking white lead?’
Clodia blew air out of her lips in irritation.
‘It will be a few years before you need to conceal your complexion. What are you now, seventeen?’
‘You know I am, you were drunk at the feast,’ Cornelia replied with a smile, holding still while the colour was applied.
‘I was merry, dear, just as everybody else was. There is nothing wrong with a little drink in moderation, I have always said.’ Clodia nodded to herself as she rubbed in the colours.
‘Now a little powdered antimony around the eyes to make men think they are dark and mysterious and we can start on the hair. Don’t touch it! Hands to yourself, remember, in case you smudge.’
Swiftly and dextrously, Clodia parted the dark-gold hair and gathered it into a chignon at the back, revealing the slender length of Cornelia’s neck. She looked at the face in the mirror and smiled at the effect.
‘Why your father hasn’t found a man for you, I will never know. You’re certainly attractive enough.’
‘He said he’d let me choose and I haven’t found anyone to like yet,’ Cornelia replied, touching the pins in her hair.
Clodia tutted to herself. ‘Your father is a good man, but tradition is important. He should find you a young man with good prospects and you should have a house of your own to run. I think you will enjoy that, somehow.’
‘I’ll take you with me when that happens. I’d miss you if I didn’t, like … a dress that is a bit old and out of fashion but still comfortable, you know?’
‘How beautifully you put your affection for me, my dear,’ Clodia replied, buffeting Cornelia’s head with her hand as she turned away to pick up the robe.
It was a great square of gold cloth that hung down to Cornelia’s knees. It had to be artfully arranged for the best effect, but Clodia had been doing it for years and knew Cornelia’s tastes in the cut and style.
‘It is beautiful – but heavy,’ Cornelia muttered.
‘So are men, dear, as you will find out,’ Clodia replied with a sparkle in her eyes. ‘Now run to your parents. We must be early enough to have a good place to watch the Triumph. We’re going to the house of one of your father’s friends.’
‘Oh, Father, you should have lived to see this,’ Gaius whispered as they passed into the streets. The way ahead was dark green, with every spot of stone covered by rushes. The people too wore their best and brightest clothes, a surging throng of colour and noise. Hands were held out and hot, envious eyes watched them. The shops were all boarded shut, as Marius had said. It seemed the whole city had turned out for a holiday to see the great general. Gaius was astonished at the numbers and the enthusiasm. Did they not remember these same soldiers cutting themselves room on the forum only a month before? Marius had said they respected only strength and the proof was in their cheers, booming and echoing in the narrow streets. Gaius glanced to his right into a window and saw a woman of some beauty throwing flowers at him. He caught one and the crowd roared again in appreciation.
Not a soul pushed onto the road, despite the lack of soldiers or guards along the edge. The lesson of the last time had clearly been learned and it was as if there was an invisible barrier holding them back. Even the hard-faced men of Marius’ own guard were grinning as they marched.
Marius sat like a god. He placed his massive hands on the arms of the golden throne and smiled at the crowd. The slave behind him raised the garland of gilded laurel over his head and the shadow fell on his features. Every eye followed his progress. His horses were trained for the battlefield and ignored the yelling people, even when some of the more daring landed flowers around their necks as well.
Gaius stood at the great man’s shoulder as the ride went on and the pride he felt lifted his soul. Would his father have appreciated this? The answer was probably not and Gaius felt a pang of sorrow at that. Marius was right: just to be alive on this day was to touch the gods. He knew he would never forget it and could see in the eyes of the people that they too would store away the moments to warm them in the dark winters of years yet to pass.
Halfway along the route, Gaius saw Tubruk standing on a corner. As their eyes met, Gaius could feel all the history between them. Tubruk raised his arm in a salute and Gaius returned it. The men around Tubruk turned to look at him and wonder at his connection. He nodded as they passed and Gaius nodded back, swallowing down the catch in his throat. He was drunk with emotion and gripped the back of the throne to keep from swaying in the tide of cheering.
Marius gave a signal to two of his men and they climbed onto the carriage, holding soft leather bags. Hands were plunged into the dark recesses and came up glinting with fistfuls of silver coins. Marius’ image went flying over the crowd and they screamed his name as they scrabbled for the metal in his wake. Marius too reached in and his fingers emerged dripping pieces of silver, spraying the coins high with a gesture and laughing as they fell and the crowd dipped to pick up the gifts. He smiled at their pleasure and they blessed him.
From a low window, Cornelia looked out over the bobbing mass of people, pleased to be clear of the crowds. She felt a thrill as Marius drew close on his throne and cheered with the rest. He was a handsome general and the city loved heroes.
There was a young man next to him, too young to be a legionary. Cornelia strained forward to get a better look. He was smiling and his eyes flashed blue as he laughed at something Marius said.
The procession came abreast of where Cornelia and her family watched. She saw coins go flying and the people rush to grab the pieces of silver. Her father, Cinna, sniffed at this.
‘Waste of money. Rome loves a frugal general,’ he said waspishly.
Cornelia ignored him, her gaze on Marius’ companion. He was attractive and healthy-looking, but there was something else about him, about the way he held himself. There was an inner confidence and, as Clodia often said, there was nothing in the world so attractive as confidence.
‘Every mother in Rome will be after that young cockerel for their daughters,’ Clodia whispered at her elbow.
Cornelia blushed and Clodia’s eyebrows shot up in surprise and pleasure.
The Triumph passed on for another two hours, but for Cornelia it was wasted time.
The colours and faces had blurred together, the men were heavily draped in flowers and the sun had reached noon by the time they began the entry to the forum. Marius signalled to his driver to put the carriage at the front, by the Senate steps. The space echoed as the hooves struck the stone slabs and the noise of the streets was slowly left behind. For the first time, G
aius could see Sulla’s soldiers guarding the entrances to the plaza and the boiling mass of the crowds beyond.
It was almost peaceful after the colourful riot of the trip into the centre.
‘Stop her here,’ Marius said, and stood from the throne to watch his men come in. They were well drilled and formed tidy ranks, layer on layer from the furthest corner to the Senate steps, until the forum was full of the shining rows of his soldiers. No human voice could carry to every man so a horn gave the order to stand to attention and they crashed their feet together and down, making thunder. Marius smiled with pride. He gripped Gaius’ shoulder.
‘Remember this. This is why we slog through battlefields a thousand miles from home.’
‘I could never forget today,’ Gaius replied honestly and the grip tightened for a moment before letting go.
Marius walked to where a white bull was held steady by four of his men. A great black-bristled boar was similarly held, but snorted and chafed against the ropes.
Marius accepted a taper and lit the incense in a golden bowl. His men bowed their heads and he stepped forward with his dagger, speaking softly as he cut the two throats.
‘Bring us all through war and pestilence, safe home to our city,’ he said. He wiped the blade on the skin of the bull as it sank to its knees, bawling its fear and pain. Sheathing the dagger, he put an arm around Gaius’ shoulder and together they walked up the wide white steps of the Senate building.
It was the seat of power in all the world. Columns that could not be girdled by three large men holding their arms outstretched supported a sloping roof that was itself mounted with distant statues. Bronze doors that dwarfed even Marius stood closed at the top of the steps. Made of interlocking panels, they looked as if they were designed to stand against an army, but as the pair ascended, the doors opened silently, pulled from within. Marius nodded and Gaius swallowed his awe.
‘Come, lad, let us go and meet our masters. It would not do to keep the Senate waiting.’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Marcus wondered at the tight expression on Renius’ face as they travelled the road to the sea. From dawn until late in the afternoon, they had trotted and walked the stone surface without a word. He was hungry and desperately thirsty, but would not admit it. He had decided at noon that if Renius wanted to do the whole trip to the docks without stopping, then he would not give up first.
Finally, when the smell of dead fish and seaweed soured the clean country air, Renius pulled up and, to his surprise, Marcus noticed the man was pale.
‘I want to break off here, to see a friend of mine. You can go on to the docks and get a room there. There’s an inn …’
‘I’m coming with you,’ Marcus said, shortly.
Renius’ jaw tightened and he muttered, ‘As you please,’ before turning off the main road onto a lesser track.
Mystified, Marcus followed him as the track wound through woods for miles. He didn’t ask where they were going, just kept his sword loose in his scabbard in case there were bandits hidden in the foliage. Not that a sword would be much use against a bow, he noted.
The sun, where it could be seen at all through the canopy, had dropped down towards the horizon when they rode into a small village. There were no more than twenty small houses, but the place had a well-kept air to it. Chickens were penned and goats tethered outside most dwellings and Marcus felt no sense of danger. Renius dismounted.
‘Are you coming in?’ he said, as he walked to a door.
Marcus nodded, and tied the two horses to a post. Renius was inside by the time he was done and he frowned, resting a hand on his dagger as he went in. It was a little dark inside, lit only by a candle and a small fire in the hearth, but Marcus could see Renius hugging an ancient old man with his one good arm.
‘This is my brother, Primus. Primus, this is the lad I mentioned, travelling with me to Greece.’
The man must have been eighty years old, but he had a firm grip.
‘My brother has written about your progress and the other one, Gaius. He doesn’t like anyone, but I think he dislikes you two less than most people.’
Marcus grunted.
‘Take a seat, boy. We have a long night ahead of us.’ He went over to his small wood fire and placed a long metal poker in its fiery heart.
‘What is happening?’ Marcus asked.
Renius sighed. ‘My brother was a surgeon. He is going to take my arm off.’
Marcus felt a sick horror come over him as he realised what he was going to see. Guilt too flushed his face. He hoped Renius wouldn’t mention how he had been injured. To cover his embarrassment, he spoke quickly. ‘Lucius or Cabera could have done it, I’m sure.’
Renius silenced him with a raised hand.
‘Many people could do the job, but Primus was … is the best.’
Primus cackled, revealing a mouth with very few teeth.
‘My little brother used to chop people up and I would stitch them back together,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Let us have a light for this.’ He turned to an oil lamp and lit it from a candle. When he turned back, he squinted at Renius.
‘I know my eyes are not what they were, but did you dye your hair?’
Renius flushed. ‘I do not want to be told your eyes are failing before you start cutting me, Primus. I am ageing well, that is all.’
‘Damned well,’ Primus agreed.
He emptied a leather satchel of tools onto a table surface and gestured to his brother to sit down. Looking at the saws and needles, Marcus wished he had taken the advice and gone on to the docks, but it was too late. Renius sat and sweat dripped from his forehead. Primus gave him a bottle of brown liquid and he raised it, taking great swallows.
‘You, boy, get that rope and tie him to the chair. I don’t want him thrashing around and breaking my furniture.’
Feeling sick, Marcus took the lengths of rope, noting with a quiet horror that they were all stained with ancient blood. He busied himself with the knots and tried not to think about it.
After a few minutes, Renius was immobile and Primus poured the last of the brown liquid into his throat.
‘That’s all I have, I’m afraid. It will take the edge off, but not much.’
‘Just get on with it,’ Renius growled through clenched teeth.
Primus raised a thick piece of leather to his mouth and told him to bite it.
‘It will save your teeth, at least.’
He turned to Marcus. ‘You hold the arm still. It will make the sawing quicker.’ He placed Marcus’ hands on the corded bicep and checked the ropes held the wrist and elbow securely. He slid a vicious-looking blade from his pack and held it up to the light, squinting at the edge.
‘I will cut a circle around the bone, then another below it to give the saws room. We will take out a ring of flesh, saw the bone and cauterise the leaks. It must be fast, or he will bleed to death. I will leave enough skin to fold over the stump, then it must be bound securely. He must not touch it for the first week, then he should rub in an ointment I will give you each morning and night. I have no leather cup for the stump, you will have to make or buy one yourself.’
Marcus swallowed nervously.
Primus plunged his fingers into the muscles and nerves of the useless arm, feeling around. After a minute, he tutted to himself, his face sad.
‘It is as you said. There is no feeling at all. The muscles are cut and beginning to waste. Was it a fight?’
Involuntarily, Marcus glanced up at Renius. The eyes above the bared teeth were manic and he looked away. ‘A training accident,’ he said softly, his voice muffled by the leather strap.
Primus nodded and pressed the blade to the skin. Renius tensed and Marcus gripped the arm.
With deft, sure strokes, Primus cut deep, stopping only to dab at the wound with a piece of cloth to remove obscuring gouts of blood. Marcus felt his stomach heave, but Renius’ brother seemed completely relaxed, blowing air between his teeth in something close to a little tune. White b
one sheathed in a pink curtain appeared and Primus grunted in satisfaction. After only a few seconds, he had reached the bone all the way around and begun the second cut.
Renius looked down at the gory hands of his brother and his lip curled into a bitter grimace. After that, he stared at the wall, his jaw clenched. A slight tremble of his breathing was the only sign of his fear.
Blood spilled over Marcus’ hands, the chair, the floor, everything. There were lakes of it inside Renius and it was all coming out, shining and wet. The second ring was gouged out leaving great flaps of hanging skin. Primus notched and sliced, removing the dark lumps of meat and dropping them carelessly on the floor.
‘Don’t worry about the mess. I have two dogs that will love this when I let them in.’
Marcus turned his head away and vomited helplessly. Primus tutted and rearranged the hands that held the arm. A white spike of bone was visible a hand’s breadth up from the elbow.
Renius had begun to breathe in hard blasts from his nose and Primus pressed a hand against his brother’s neck, feeling for the pulse.
‘I’ll be as quick as I can,’ he muttered.
Renius nodded, unblinking.
Primus stood up and wiped his hands on a cloth. He looked his brother in the eyes and grimaced at what he found there.
‘This is the hard part. You will feel the pain when I cut the bone and the vibration is very unpleasant. I will be as fast as I can. Hold him very still. For two minutes, you must be like a rock. No more of this puking, understand?’
Marcus took deep breaths, miserably, and Primus brought out a thin-bladed saw, set in a wooden handle like a kitchen knife.
‘Ready?’
They both muttered assent and Primus set the blade and began to cut, his elbow moving back and forth almost in a blur.
Renius went rigid and his whole body rose against the ropes holding him. Marcus gripped as if his life depended on it, and winced whenever the blood made his fingers slip and the saw snagged.
Without warning, the arm came free, leaning sideways and away from Renius. Renius looked down at it and grunted in anger. Primus wiped his hands and pressed a wad of cloth into the wound. He gestured to Marcus to hold it in place and fetched the iron bar that had been heating in the fire. The tip glowed and Marcus winced in anticipation.
The Emperor Series: Books 1-5 Page 20