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.