Pera muttered an obscenity. He seemed about to hurl more accusations, but a glance at Corax and he fell silent.
Gaius barked an order at the throng of soldiers to disperse. Looking confused, they did as they were told. ‘Time for a few cups of wine,’ said Gaius. ‘Come on, Pera. It’ll be my treat.’
Quintus was aware of Pera’s hate-filled eyes boring into him, but he was careful not to meet them. ‘Why did you lend the dunghill rat your chestnut anyway?’ he heard Pera demanding of Gaius as the two centurions moved off. ‘You should have given him your other horse.’
The instant that Pera was out of earshot, Quintus spoke. ‘Did you see what happened at the torch, sir?’
‘I saw,’ replied Corax.
‘Pera cheated, sir! He turned a long way from the halfway point. If his mount hadn’t gone down, he would have won — by cheating!’
‘I know.’
‘Why didn’t you say anything, sir?’ Quintus knew the bitter truth even as he asked.
Corax gave him a hefty shove in the chest. ‘Watch your mouth! It’s thanks to your stupidity that this whole damn enterprise came about. What came over you to decide to race against a centurion? Do you really want men like Pera to discover that you’re of noble birth?’
Quintus had wondered for some time if Corax suspected, but to hear it said out loud was truly shocking. ‘You knew, sir?’
There was a derisive snort. ‘After this long with you under my command, it’s as clear as the nose on your face. Your accent used to give you away; so too did your manners, however hard you tried to act like the rest. You speak Greek well, and have some understanding of battle tactics. You can ride a horse. What else could you be but an equestrian?’ Corax’s eyes were amused as he looked at Quintus. ‘Close your mouth, soldier, or a fly will go in.’
‘You haven’t told anyone, have you, sir?’
‘You must have your reasons for wanting to serve among the hastati, Crespo. As long as you didn’t murder someone’ — here Corax raised a hand in acknowledgement as Quintus began to protest — ‘it’s not for me, or for anyone else, to stop you doing so. Besides, you’re a good soldier, one of the best in the maniple. I need you.’
‘I don’t know what to say, sir.’
‘Then say nothing, Crespo.’ Corax chuckled. ‘That’s not even your name, is it?’
‘No, sir. It’s-’
Corax put a finger to his lips. ‘It’s better that I don’t know. If anyone ever comes looking, I’ll be able to deny all knowledge of you.’
‘That will never happen, sir,’ said Quintus sadly. ‘My father died at Cannae.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Corax. ‘But do not think that you might never be discovered. You tried hard tonight to have Pera realise that you were of noble birth.’
Quintus felt his cheeks redden. ‘I’m sorry, sir.’
‘What’s done is done. Be content that you were saved a beating, or worse. And watch out for Pera from now on. He will not forgive you for this, even if it was a fair victory. Did you know that he is related to Marcellus?’
‘No, sir,’ replied Quintus, shocked.
‘It’s distantly, I am told, but that’s not to say that he won’t try to bend Marcellus’ ear about this.’
Quintus felt sure that Corax was telling him obliquely that as Quintus’ commander, he too might attract unwanted attention from above. ‘If you knew, sir, why didn’t you tell me to back out beforehand? I’d have had to, if you ordered it.’
There was a fiery glint in Corax’s deep-set eyes. ‘You’re not the only one who doesn’t like to refuse a challenge, Crespo.’
‘No, sir,’ Quintus muttered, feeling proud yet again that Corax was his centurion. ‘Can I go, sir?’
‘You can. Call by my tent in the morning.’
‘Sir?’
To his surprise, Corax winked. ‘There were huge odds against you winning, but I thought it only fair to back one of my men. I’m not sure of the exact amount, but I’ll be collecting something over four hundred denarii later. You can have ten.’
‘Thank you, sir!’ Despite the tiny fraction of his winnings that Corax was offering, Quintus straightened up. The memory of Pera’s incandescent rage at being beaten was a consolation too. So what that Pera was Marcellus’ third cousin or something? He was the centurion of another unit, with no power over him or any of Corax’s men.
‘Go on, then. Piss off and find your mates. No doubt they’ll be wanting to spend some of their earnings on you.’
Quintus saluted and headed for the gate.
Chapter XI
‘Mistress.’ Elira’s voice echoed in the bedchamber.
Aurelia barely registered it. All of her focus was locked on the crumpled little shape that was Publius, in the bed before her. She leaned over him, stroked the damp hairs off his forehead, telling herself that the dark red flush to his skin was because he was too hot. The cool breeze that blew through the palace most evenings couldn’t come quickly enough today. If only they were in Rome, if only she hadn’t decided to travel south. None of this would have happened. Stop it. You have to stay strong, for Publius’ sake. ‘There, there, my darling. You’ll soon be better.’
‘Mistress.’ This time, Elira shook Aurelia’s shoulder.
She tore her eyes from her son. ‘Is the surgeon here?’
‘No, mistress. He said he couldn’t come again until tomorrow, remember?’
‘But the medicine he gave Publius hasn’t worked.’
‘That was the best treatment he had. Malaria is very hard to treat, mistress, especially in the young.’ Elira’s tone was very gentle.
For the thousandth time, Aurelia’s eyes moved around the well-appointed room, looking for a way out. Along with an adjacent living area and a latrine, this was her entire world. Her prison. Apart from the times that Hippocrates summoned her, that was. It was fortunate that Elira was the current focus for his lust, she thought dully. With Publius so sick, there was no way that she would have been able to entertain him as she had before.
Publius coughed, and her attention reverted to the present. ‘Bring me a damp cloth.’
‘Of course, mistress.’ Elira scurried off.
By the time that she had returned, Publius had wet himself. A large stain was spreading across the sheet, surrounding the lower half of his body. Without a word, they changed the bed linen and wiped him down. With the sheets removed, it was impossible to ignore how the malaria had ravaged him. He was nothing more than a bag of skin and bones, and the yellow tinge to his skin was mild in comparison to the jaundiced colour of the whites of his eyes. Somehow, Aurelia blanked it all out, ignored Elira’s concerned glances. Refusing to acknowledge how ill Publius was made it easier to imagine his recovery.
‘I know it’s difficult, mistress, but I need to talk to you.’
The unusual sharpness to Elira’s tone pierced Aurelia’s mental haze. ‘What is it?’
‘I was given another message when I went out this morning.’
Hanno. ‘At the baker’s?’
‘Yes. From a soldier, as before. I made sure to give him your reply to the first letter.’
Aurelia took the proffered tiny, rolled parchment with trembling hands. It had seemed an eternity since her chance meeting with Hanno until the first one had come. Although it had not offered a way out of the palace — Hanno had said that he was planning that with a friend — its arrival had helped her to go on. This was the second message, come two weeks after its predecessor. Maybe Hanno could get another surgeon to attend Publius? she wondered. She dismissed the idea at once. He could no more do that than spirit three people through the walls of the palace. The familiar, yawning pit of despair opened up before her. Do not give up hope, she told herself. This letter is proof that the gods have not forsaken us completely. We will escape, somehow. Cracking off the little blob of sealing wax and unrolling the parchment, she began to read.
‘To Aurelia: Greetings. My apologies for the long delay in getting this second missive to you, but my friend has few soldiers whom he trusts enough with the duty of giving it to Elira. I pray that you are enduring as best you can.’ Aurelia’s eyes moved to Publius’ form. She had to concentrate to see him breathing, and a stab of pain pierced her heart.