‘But surely the Claudians are a very illustrious family,’ said Cholon, not in the least amused by Claudia’s dismissive wave.
‘There you are. That remark shows that you cannot acquire the mysteries of Roman bloodlines merely by being granted citizenship.’
‘Oh, I know how exclusive you all are. What I cannot comprehend is why the thought of a Claudian marrying a Falerii causes such mirth.’
‘It’s because we are Sabine,’ said Claudia.
‘Forgive me, but how can you be? Your family line is full of consuls and the like.’
‘Originally the Claudians were Sabine nobles. The last King of Rome, Tarquinus Superbus, invited us to enter his service, giving us comparable status in the city. To the full-blooded Romans, the diehards, we’re still outsiders.’
‘How long ago was all this?’ asked Cholon.
Claudia waved a dismissive arm again. ‘Three or four hundred years ago, but it’s like yesterday to the Falerii.’
‘Then why is Lucius betrothing his son, Marcellus, to a member of your family?’
‘Money, Cholon. Old Uncle Appius Claudius is close to being the richest man in Rome. Even Aulus, with all the wealth he brought back from Macedonia, barely surpassed him. The dowry will be enormous.’
Cholon was tempted to ask why Aulus had married her in that case, since the Cornelii claimed to be a much older family than even the Falerii, but he knew that it would have been tactless, as well as unwelcome, and would serve only to ruin the relaxed atmosphere of the evening. Claudia, for her part, was wondering how long she would have to wait to ask Cholon that all-important question. Her son, if he had survived, would be exactly the same age as Marcellus Falerius. There would be a ceremony soon, when the boy put on his manly gown, and since he was going to be betrothed to a Claudian, albeit from another branch of the family, then she was going to be invited to witness the event. It was not something to which she was looking forward.
‘Let me tell you about the most startlingly odious cretin I met on my travels. This fellow had sent someone else to serve in his place in the legions, while he stayed at home and worked his farm.’ Cholon leant forward, a look of amazed amusement on his face. ‘Do you know, he had the gall to try and fool me into paying Aulus’s bequest to him, even though he was hale and hearty…’
Thoas had already left the door. There might be something to gain from exaggerating what the two of them had said about the forthcoming betrothal, but he doubted, once that Greek bastard had started telling tales of his travels, he would hear anything else of interest.
CHAPTER TEN
Lucius Falerius Nerva’s grandfather, like so many other senators, had done well in the distribution of Latifunda on the island of Sicily after the Second Punic War. These ‘farms’ were not like those in Italy, being vast arable areas worked entirely by slave labour. The main property, on the northern coastal plain, was fertile, and, with the hills nearby, generally well watered. The other, in a valley towards the centre of the island, was less favoured, requiring a greater commitment to irrigation than Lucius had been prepared to either plan or fund. Both holdings had been allowed to stumble along without much improvement, under the control of a lackadaisical overseer; worse than that, he had allowed male and female slaves to mix freely, with predictable results. They built themselves comfortable huts; some had been on the land so long that their young children toiled alongside them, both generations working at an unhurried pace and eating a fair proportion of what they grew. Flaccus, having paid a quick visit to the other Barbinus properties, changed that in his first week by rebuilding the slave compounds — he would destroy any exterior lodgings — followed immediately by a severe cut in the food supply.
A surveyor had laid out the practical way to increase the area under cultivation and thus the yield, an improvement that would require an increase in the number of slaves. Such an investment might eat into Flaccus’s profits, so he first determined to see what he could achieve with the resources to hand. No other farm on the island, as far as he could tell, had operated such a lenient regime and all produced higher profits, so an initial improvement should be simple. His next step was the separation of the families, a policy he explained to his band of mercenaries.
‘They shouldn’t have womenfolk and a litter anyway. Makes ’em soft. We’re going to shift all the women and children inland. They’re useless in the fields anyhow, especially at ploughing and planting time, and they spill most of the water they carry in the wrong place. We’ll send them to the other farm. They can start work on the irrigation ditches.’
‘They can’t break rocks, Flaccus,’ said Dedon, an interruption that was practical rather than sympathetic.
‘No, but they can carry them. Breaking stones will be a punishment for those that give us trouble.’ He looked around the assembled mercenaries, aware of their indifference. ‘Don’t make the mistake of thinking this is all going to go smooth. We’ll have plenty of aid from the other farms to start with, but once we’ve sorted the place out we’ll be on our own. I don’t expect that all of you will be here in a year’s time. One or two of you might be dead.’
That made them pay attention. ‘There are only a few of us, an’ hundreds of slaves. Some of them will work with us, the ones who’d rather flay their mates than toil themselves, but we’ll always be outnumbered and Rome is a long way off. Other farms, barring the odd runaway, have got their slaves nice and pliant, but only because they’ve been hard. They work or they die and if they cause trouble they’re worked even harder and die quicker. Our lot have had it easy and they’re not about to take kindly to what I plan to do. There’s only one way to keep the lid on any trouble. You’ve got to be ruthless. First sign of dissent, you crack down. Kill if you must, but remember slaves cost money.’
‘What about the women?’ asked Charro.
‘Threaten ’em, but don’t touch, that is unless you get any trouble. Then you can do with them what you like.’
Aquila, armed with a sword and shield to add to his spear, acted as a sort of personal bodyguard to Flaccus, so he saw very little of the anguish these orders caused; having given his instructions, the new overseer was content to let his men carry them out. The mercenaries would be brutal, they were being paid for that, but he had no desire to witness what they did. Even Flaccus might have baulked at some of their wilder activities. The ex-centurion rode all over the properties, sketching his plans for the better use of the land and available water. Aquila did not see the women and children torn from their huts, know of the hardships of their march to the inland farm stockade with no food or water on the way, of protesting men hung by the thumbs from trees and flayed till they were nearly dead, or of the fate of the women who fought to remain themselves, victims of the slack observance of Flaccus’s instructions. Some, having serviced the whole band, still had enough life in them to be fetched back to the men’s barracks, with the stark choice of meeting their needs, or the offer of a painful death.
But Aquila saw the smoke of the burning huts on the horizon, looked into the glazed eyes of the men who had now been herded into the wooded compounds, watched as they worked, chained together, saw the vultures in the sky, before they swooped to feed on the bodies of those women and children who had died on the march. He had stood beside Flaccus on the day that those unfortunate men, who dared to protest at their treatment, with precious few tools to dent the solid rock, started on the first of the new irrigation schemes. He knew the inducements they had been offered were a lie; there would be no easy life after the punishment was served. Aquila had been with Flaccus as he drew the plans for the next natural aqueduct. And if they were not broken on that, they would be returned to the land, to ploughing and planting, just as soon as this channel through the hills was complete.