The tribune sipped at his wine.
‘Well, what is it? I know damned well you’ll already have read it.’
The German smiled.
‘Not only read it, I’ve smelt it too.’
Scaurus raised an eyebrow, taking the tablet and sniffing at it.
‘My word. I see what you mean. And?’
The German shrugged.
‘It’s from the lady mine owner herself. She’s inviting you to dinner with her and her fellow businessmen.’
Scaurus grinned up at his bodyguard.
‘I see. So my choice is either to sit here, drink this decidedly average red and eat whatever unidentifiable meat it is that you’re busy burning, or go and break bread with the people whose livelihood I’m either protecting or ruining, depending on one’s point of view. That’s a tough one . . .’
The German shook his head in disgust.
‘Let’s hope they’re not planning to do a re-enactment of Caesar and the senators with you, given the havoc you’ve been causing with your wall. You’d better wear the breastplate, just in case.’
Scaurus nodded in agreement, looking at the heavy sculpted-bronze armour in its place in the tent’s corner.
‘Quite so. Not only will I feel safer, but I’ve always found the old bronze to be a sure-fire winner with the ladies. Family heirloom, worn by my noble ancestor in the Year of the Four Emperors, that sort of thing. It helps not to mention that he ended up on the losing side, mind you. Give me a hand with it, if you will?’
‘Begging your pardon, Centurion, but have you seen that damnable boy?’
Morban made a quick salute to his centurion, looking about Marcus’s tent with a harried-looking stare as the Roman turned from the sword blade he’d been polishing.
‘If you mean your grandson, I’ve not seen him. I’d assumed that he was training with Arminius.’
‘That’s just the problem, sir, he’s nowhere to be found. Arminius is chewing on my leg for wasting his time waiting for the lad, and so I wondered . . .’
He looked about the tent again, as if hopeful that Marcus might have Lupus hidden in one of the corners, then shook his head in exasperation and withdrew. The young centurion followed him out into the still early evening air, both men reflexively looking up and down the line of tents. Seeing the big German approaching, Marcus waited for him to reach them before speaking.
‘No sign?’
Arminius shook his head darkly.
‘Nothing. The gate guards say they saw him a few hours ago, practising with his sword, but after that there’s been no sign at all. If he’s wandered off into the town there’s no saying what trouble he might have . . .’
He fell silent, raising a hand to point at something behind the other two men. Marcus turned to see Lupus sidling down the line of tents with another boy a few paces behind him. The child’s companion wore an expression that told the Roman he was poised and ready to run.
‘Not a word, either of you, or whoever that is will be on his toes and we’ll never know the truth of it. Arminius, take the standard bearer here away to the town’s beer shop for a discussion about a donation for the boy’s equipment needs. His mail looks to be getting a little short to me . . .’
The German nodded knowingly, taking a firm hold of Morban’s arm.
‘Come then, Morban, we’ll combine your favourite activity with your biggest fear.’
As they walked away Marcus squatted down on his haunches, watching the two boys approach. Lupus walked up to his officer and saluted as the soldiers had taught him, his eyes alive with excitement.
‘Centurion, I’ve been in a gold mine!’
Marcus nodded calmly, smiling at the other boy who was lurking out of arm’s reach.
‘I guessed by the state of your cloak that you’d been somewhere dark and dirty. A gold mine, eh? Did you find any gold?’
Lupus’s eyes widened with the memory, the enthusiasm spilling out of him in the absence of any punishment for going missing.
‘No. Mus’s friend Karsas took us to look at something called a seam, but it was only rock. But I saw the men turning the waterwheel, and we put oil in the lamps, and Mus . . .’ he turned to the other boy, ‘Mus showed me how to climb up the thirty-foot ladder like he does, with a lamp in one hand, and we went to the other side of the mountain to see the Raven, and—’
Marcus smiled at the smaller child, making no effort to move in the face of the boy’s obvious readiness to run. He gently overrode Lupus with a question.
‘Hello Mus, I’m Marcus. Are you boys hungry?’ Lupus nodded eagerly, and his new friend’s face brightened slightly. ‘I’ll tell you what, why don’t we go and see Felicia and Annia and see what they’re cooking for dinner. You can tell me all about where you’ve been and what you’ve done while we eat, and after that the pair of you can clean my boots and armour together, eh?’
He turned away from the children as he stood, hoping not to send the younger boy running simply with the movement, and walked slowly away down the line of tents without looking to see if they were following. Lupus turned to his friend, who was staring at the Roman’s back in a misery of indecision, and held out his open palm.
‘In the mine today, I was scared of the darkness and the ladder, and you told me to trust you?’ Mus nodded, still watching Marcus, and Lupus waited in silence until the boy’s gaze turned back to his outstretched hand. ‘So now you have to trust me.’
Scaurus followed the waiting messenger up the valley in the early evening’s dim starlight with one hand on the hilt of his sword, but the taciturn man led him past the miners’ camp and straight up the road into the heart of Alburnus Major, a cluster of houses that huddled in the shadow of the Rotunda Mountain. A figure walked down the road out of the gloom, and a familiar voice spoke in a tone which to the tribune’s ear was clearly edged with more than a hint of bitterness.
‘Well now, Tribune Scaurus, you seem to be getting around smartly enough.’
The tribune nodded tersely, putting both hands on his hips and forcing a note of civility into his voice, while the messenger lurked almost unseen in the darkness.
‘Good evening, Procurator. Are you joining us for dinner?’
Maximus laughed, and again Scaurus was left with the feeling that there was something he was missing.
‘No, Tribune, I won’t be joining you.’ He stepped around Scaurus, calling out over his shoulder as he continued on down the road, his last words floating away across the darkened landscape. ‘I wish you a pleasant evening, although I have little doubt you’ll find the entertainment to your taste. Unless, of course, all those stories we hear about soldiers preferring masculine company are true . . .’
Watching the procurator vanish into the darkness, Scaurus shrugged and turned back to his guide, gesturing with a hand for the man to continue on his path. The messenger led him into a walled courtyard, across a wide, paved garden lit by a dozen blazing torches and decorated with tastefully planted trees and shrubs, and up to the front door of the large villa sheltered behind the high walls. He hammered at the door, which was promptly opened by an imposingly rotund slave who beckoned the tribune inside. Closing the door behind them, the man turned back to him with a slight smile.
‘Good evening, sir. Might I take your sword, before I escort you through into the dining room?’
Scaurus shrugged and eased the weapon’s baldric over his head.
‘I’ll keep the dagger if it’s all the same to you. A man needs something to eat with. And take care with that blade, it’s been in my family since the blessed Claudius was on the throne.’
The portly servant nodded, taking the weapon with the appropriate reverence and then ushering the tribune through a door and into an empty room with two couches set out on either side of a low table, on which stood a wine bottle and two beakers.
‘The lady will join you shortly, sir, I believe.’
‘The lady?’
Whether deliberately or not, the slave had wi
thdrawn too quickly to have heard the question, leaving a bemused Scaurus to pace around the room with one hand on the dagger’s hilt, and a distinct feeling that he was being misled in some way. Glancing at the murals that decorated the walls he frowned momentarily, then raised an intrigued eyebrow as he realised exactly what it was that they depicted.
‘Good, aren’t they? I had to pay an absolute fortune to find an artist with the skill and experience to get them right, but it was worth every denarius if the reaction of the men who see them is any indication of their value. I particularly like that one, where he’s mounting her from behind. Do you see the way her back’s arched? You can almost hear the cries of pleasure as he grinds her into the couch.’
Scaurus nodded, turning to face the speaker with the distinct feeling that his face was a little pinker than might be desirable. Theodora was carefully posed in the doorway on the opposite side of the room, leaning against the door frame with her elegant chin resting on her raised hand and the other hand at her side, gently stroking at whatever gauzy, semi-transparent material had been used to make her gown. He bowed deeply, using the moment to gather his thoughts.
‘Ah, madam. I must admit you have me at a disadvantage. Your messenger led me to expect a dinner party, but your rather exotic clothing indicates that the gathering might be a more select group than I’d imagined?’
She laughed, the sound light and breathy in the room’s silence, and stepped away from the door with a calculating look on her face.
‘The confusion is purely intentional, Tribune. I wanted you all to myself, but I wasn’t sure how you would have responded to an invitation that would appear to be aimed at seeking favouritism with you.’
He raised both eyebrows, putting his hands on his hips.
‘Which is exactly what this is, I presume.’
Theodora smiled with genuine pleasure.
‘Oh yes, of course it is, and how clever of you to see through me. Mind you, I was also hoping to provoke you to come here dressed up in all that lovely armour. I do so love a man in uniform. I wish my artist were here now, I’d have him paint you just like that, looking all stern and manly . . .’ She walked across the room and ran a finger down his breastplate. ‘And shiny too. All my birthdays come at once. If only you’d worn your helmet.’
Scaurus smiled.
‘If only I’d known.’
‘Ah, but half the fun of these things is the surprise, wouldn’t you say? Now, what happens if I undo this?’
She pulled at the fastenings that secured his breastplate, her delicate fingers unpicking the hooks.
‘Let’s have all that bronze off, shall we? It’s all very well for intimidating civilians, but it’s not really evening wear, now is it?’
His smiled broadened.
‘I must warn you, madam, that I’ve had a fairly hectic day, and the timing of your invitation allowed me no opportunity to bathe. I may be a little . . . ripe?’
She finished teasing open the tight knots securing his breastplate’s two halves, lowering the heavy bronze armour to the floor before bending close and inhaling.
‘Marvellous! That, my dear tribune, is the smell of a man. And presumably down here we’ll find . . .’ She darted a hand beneath his tunic and rubbed at his rapidly swelling penis. ‘Exactly what I’m looking for!’ She stood, laughing into his expression of delighted astonishment as she tugged him towards the door by the now thoroughly engorged member. ‘This way, Gaius. I may call you Gaius, I presume, given that I’m just about to mount this rather impressive specimen? Let’s get that first desperate coupling out of the way, shall we? I don’t want you leaking all over my furniture in anticipation when a few minutes of vigorous enjoyment can calm it all down until later.’
‘Later?’
She smirked knowingly at him, knowing she literally had him in the palm of her hand.
‘Oh yes. After a nice long dinner, with enough wine to dull your sensitivity whilst not destroying your ability, during which we can have a chat about how you’re going to defend the Raven Head mine against these beastly barbarians, I’ll be expecting you to impale me on this a few more times. Until, to be perfectly frank, there’s no more impaling left in you.’
3
Julius was busy describing the many and varied faults of the day’s gate sentries to them in the most graphic and violent terms possible when the message from Annia reached him. He had already left the two tent parties in question in no doubt whatsoever that another such failure in their duties would result in significant loss of pay, not to mention a certain flogging.
‘And no, the fact that the boy came back safe doesn’t make it any fucking better, because he shouldn’t ever have been able to fucking well leave unnoticed, and nor should the other lad have got into the fucking camp in the first fucking place!’ He took the message tablet that was being held out to him by a visibly wilting soldier from his own First Century, and scanned the contents before turning back to the waiting man with a wave of dismissal. ‘Tell the lady I’ll be there shortly. And fetch enough of the evening meal for six people. If it’s not at the doctor’s tent when I get there you can join this lot on punishment duty and get your spade dirty cleaning out the latrines.’
The soldier swivelled on his heel and ran, having been on the butt end of his first spear’s evil temper more than once, while Julius turned his attention to the nearest of the current gate sentries, his sharp eyes quickly finding a pair of men clearly struggling to restrain their mirth at their comrades’ predicament. Raising his voice to a parade-ground roar, he bellowed at them loudly enough for half the camp to hear.
‘And I don’t know what you two are laughing at, because according to that message the other lad got back into the camp with our boy just now, and once again not one of you stupid bastards noticed! I want the entire guard paraded in front of my tent when you come off duty, no exceptions!’
He was delighted to discover that by happy coincidence the night guard’s duty centurion was Otho, the most foul tempered of his officers, who had long since been christened ‘Knuckles’ by soldiers and centurions alike for his pugilistic tendencies. In a short and vigorous discussion he suggested that the veteran officer might do well to sharpen up the camp’s guards, using both tone and language he judged were sufficiently terse to result in a rich crop of black eyes and fat lips. Still shaking his head in angry disbelief at his men’s failure to detect two children sneaking around the camp in broad daylight, he stamped off to the doctor’s tent where, the tablet written by Annia had informed him, he was invited to dine as long as he provided the evening meal. Poised to walk through the tent’s doorway, he was met by the lady in question who put her hand on his chest and pushed him firmly away from the opening. Her look was enough to make him hold his tongue long enough for his woman to put her face close to his, her features set in the expression that he’d come to understand signified that she meant business. Her whispered warning was delivered in what he’d taken to describing as her ‘command voice’, when he was sure that she wasn’t listening.
‘I knew you were coming this way because I could hear you beasting anyone that crossed your path! We’ve a guest, Julius, and if you barge in shouting the odds about the “fucking sentries” in your usual manner he’ll be out and away before you’ve stopped to draw breath. I’m not sure exactly what happened to the boy, but what little I do know is that some soldiers tore his life apart, as a result of which he’s terrified of a uniform – any uniform – especially one filled by a self-important centurion with the temper of a prize bull who’s been shut away from the cows for too long.’
Julius watched in disgust over her shoulder as the soldier tasked with fetching the party’s dinner took grateful advantage of his first spear’s unplanned delay by hurrying into the tent with a large pot, presumably filled with whatever the man had been able to beg, borrow and in all likelihood steal from his fellow soldiers. He opened his mouth to protest, only to find a hard finger pressed against it. ‘So if you wan
t to be warming your feet in anything better than your cloak tonight, then you’ll put a smile on that big ugly face and follow me into the tent as if the lad’s presence is the best thing that’s happened to you all day. Won’t you?’
Opening his mouth to agree with alacrity, given that he’d learned from grim experience not to take the lady’s favours for granted, he found himself not only silenced but utterly amazed by her parting comment as she turned back to the tent.
‘And besides, it’s about time we found out just how good a father you’re going to make, isn’t it?’
‘Whatever it was she told him, he went as white as a legionary’s arse, according to the soldier he sent to run for his dinner. And when the evening guard reported for a kicking as ordered, rather than ripping them all a new one he just sent them away with no more than a warning not to let it happen again. My mate in the Seventh Century said that the poor bastard looked as if he’d been smacked with an axe handle. And now look at him . . .’
Morban and Arminius turned as one man to look at Julius as the first spear strode down the line of the Fifth Century’s tents, his expression that of a man with a deep preoccupation. The standard bearer raised a knowing eyebrow at his companion.
‘I’ve closed the book on whether she’s with child or not, and I’m offering two to three on a boy, evens on a girl. Let’s see if we can get some confirmation, eh?’
He snapped off an improbably precise salute, which Julius ignored other than casting a brief sardonic glance at the standard bearer.
‘Good morning, First Spear, sir!’ Julius’s lack of reaction to his artificially breezy greeting only provoked Morban to continue his salutation. ‘It’s a beautiful clear day, sir, perhaps we’ll get that wall . . .’
He fell silent as the first spear stopped in his tracks, turned his head to stare expressionlessly at him, then rotated his body and stepped forward to put his nose only inches from Morban’s face. When he spoke his voice was a low growl.
05 - The Wolf's Gold Page 10