Lucius nearly asked about the Thracian; famous for their strength and fortitude, especially in the sun, they were usually employed in Sicily growing wheat. Then he remembered, just in time, that he had sold his property on the island. The need to do so made him frown angrily, so unlike him was it to lose touch. The barracking he had given his fellow-senators over the Parthian gifts, was, he realised now, unwise. His overseer mistook the look generated by such thoughts and spoke hastily.
‘There are other girls on the farm who are virgins, Excellency, though none as pretty as this.’
‘I don’t want a virgin!’ Lucius took the girl’s chin in his hand, thumb one side, index finger the other. The grip was firm without being painful. ‘I own you, girl, body and soul, do you realise that?’ The girl nodded with difficulty. ‘Please me and you will be well rewarded, thwart my wishes and you’ll lose your looks down a lead mine. You will come here, to my house, as a normal household slave. The tasks I set you will not be too arduous and for that your duties will be light. Do you understand?’
Again the girl nodded. The overseer had told her all about the betrothal, so she knew that the daughter of Appius Claudius was not yet ten years old. The wedding, between her and Marcellus Falerius, would not take place for several years.
‘My son is a handsome fellow and I think he will treat you kindly. If you do likewise then he will not see the need to expend his energies in the brothel. In time, he will have a wife, then I will send you back to the farm, with permission to take a man and bear children.’ The girl, who had once dreamt of marriage and children on the farm where she was raised, tried hard to hide a smile; perhaps this old man would send her back there. ‘What’s your name?’
She whispered in reply. ‘Sosia, master.’
‘Well, you’re a pretty specimen, Sosia, pretty enough to make an old man wish he was twenty years younger.’
‘Where is my son? I sent for him half an hour ago.’
The household steward bowed slightly. ‘He’s not yet returned from the Campus Martius, master.’
Lucius looked up at the evening sky. ‘Don’t be a fool, it’s nearly dark.’
‘He has taken to stopping off at the Trebonius house on the way home.’ The steward noticed the brow of his master furrow and spoke hastily, lest blame be attached to him. ‘Or so his body slave informs me.’
‘He sees the Trebonius boy all day, man. They attend school together, never mind their games.’
‘It is not the boy he goes to see, master. I believe he has become attached to Gaius Trebonius’s sister, Valeria.’
‘How long has this been going on?’
‘Several weeks, master,’ the steward lied; it was many months, instead of mere weeks.
The voice was like the lash of a whip, making the fellow cringe. ‘And you did not see fit to inform me of this?’
‘I’ll send for him right away, master.’
‘Go yourself!’
‘But, master…’
Lucius stepped forward and grabbed the man by the hair, shaking him violently. ‘Yes, idiot. They’ll think that you’ve been reduced to a mere household dogsbody, a paltry messenger boy, and every slave on the Palatine will laugh at you for weeks. Be warned, messenger, that is what will come to pass if you keep information about anything from me, let alone the whereabouts of my son.’
Valeria rubbed her hand over Marcellus’s forearm, still bruised from the blows he had fended off in his boxing bout, as he finished relating to her the latest news from the frontier of Hispania Ulterior. Being privy to the reports passed on to his father, he was probably the best informed youth in Rome, eagerly listened to by his contemporaries, avid for news of war wherever it occurred, but none had the passion of Valeria and no one demanded that he outline each detail with such diligent insistence. Another insurrection had broken out, this time caused by a tribe called the Averici. Mounted on small ponies, they were very mobile, the worst kind of enemy the disciplined Romans could face. As usual, such an uprising was backed, indeed fostered, by the Duncani, who lay in wait for any Roman legate stupid enough to pursue the lightly armed cavalry into the hills.
The Averici seemed particularly callous, not content just to kill but instead inclined to torture and rape on a scale not seen in Spain for decades. Originally, when setting out to relate such tales, Marcellus had tried to shock Valeria with his graphic descriptions. Not now; he still provided her with the gory details, but it was to see the way she reacted, the way she tensed and released her breath, that drove him, sometimes, to colour stories that were quite horrific enough without embellishment.
‘I prefer it when you come like this.’ Her hand slipped across his filthy red smock. ‘Somehow it makes everything more real.’
‘Smelling of manure and sweat?’ Marcellus shivered, himself, at the lightness of her touch. Valeria was dressed in everyday clothes, a plain white woollen garment, tied at the waist with a decorated belt. Her hair was dressed in that same way, high and curled above her forehead. The dark eyes, seemingly amused, looked at the tall boy who stood before her. Part of him could not resist the temptation to administer a rebuke. ‘That’s a very odd notion, Valeria.’
He attempted to touch her arm in turn, hoping that by doing so he could pull her closer, but she slid away from him, replying, with her back half-turned, in a little girl voice. ‘Is it, Marcellus? To me it’s like a soldier fresh from the very battles you describe, the blood of his enemies still on his sword. A hero who, having slain the barbarian, comes to claim his prize.’
‘May the Gods preserve us from such poetic rubbish,’ said her brother, Gaius, entirely spoiling the mood of intimacy.
Marcellus, who had been quite taken with the sentiment, was annoyed. ‘Can’t you go somewhere else, Gaius?’
‘Nothing would give me greater pleasure, friend, but if I go, you’ll have Valeria’s maid to watch over you and she’ll keep you ten feet apart. The only thing Valeria will smell is her rancid armpits and there will be none of these little caresses that I allow.’
Valeria turned and stuck her tongue out at him, in the way she had, until recently, reserved for people like Marcellus. ‘Pig.’
‘Better a pig than a snake, sister,’ replied her brother, unruffled.
‘Please don’t talk to Valeria like that,’ Marcellus insisted.
Gaius adopted a haughty expression, though it was impossible to say whether it was aimed at Marcellus, or the slave who had just sidled up to stand beside him. ‘Sorry friend. Not even you can deny me a brother’s privileges.’ He turned to the slave. ‘What do you want?’
The slave grinned, much to the annoyance of Gaius, which was not eased by the way the fellow addressed the other boy direct, ignoring his question. ‘Marcellus Falerius, your father’s steward is at the gate, requesting that you be fetched immediately.’
‘His steward?’
The boy’s response only widened the grin on the fellow’s face, for the Falerii steward was a haughty bugger, yet there he was at the door like a common household skivvy. Many would take pleasure from his humiliation.
‘Damn you!’ snapped Gaius. ‘I asked you a question.’
The smile disappeared off the slave’s face and he pulled away fearfully from Gaius, though he was twenty years the boy’s senior. ‘Did I not answer it, sir?’
‘No, you did not! In this house you report to me, not to my guests, however favoured they may be.’
‘Why, Gaius,’ said Valeria teasingly, throwing up her arms in mock alarm. ‘You look quite grown up.’
Marcellus had his eyes on her, and the breasts that swelled up through her dress. There was no doubt that she was grown up and he had to drag his mind from the image of her body. He placed himself between the angry Gaius and the cowed servant, addressing his friend.
‘I must go. If my father has sent his steward, it must be something of importance.’