happened to see them practising one day, and had been amazed. Because of her ability, Fabricius had chosen to indulge her in this, but Atia had been kept in the dark. There was no way that she would have agreed to it. Knowing this, Aurelia had not protested as they’d left.
Taking up the rear was Agesandros, his feet dangling either side of a sturdy mule. He was to visit the slave market and find a replacement for the dead Gaul. A metal-tipped staff was slung over his back, and his whip, the badge of his office, was jammed into his belt. The Sicilian had left his deputy, a grinning Iberian with little brain but plenty of brawn, to supervise the taking in of the harvest. Last of all came a pair of prize lambs, bleating indignantly as Agesandros dragged them along by their head ropes.
Time passed and gradually Quintus felt more human. He drained the water gourd twice, refilling it from a noisy stream that ran parallel to the road. The pain in his head was lessening, allowing him to take more of an interest in his surroundings. The hills where they had hunted the bear were now just a hazy line on the horizon behind them. On either side sprawled fields of ripe wheat, ground which belonged to their neighbours. Campania possessed some of the most fertile land in Italy, and the proof lay all around. Groups of slaves were at work everywhere, wielding their scythes, gathering armfuls of the cut stalks, stacking sheaves. Their activities were of scant interest to Quintus, who was beginning to feel excited about wearing his first adult toga.
Aurelia drew the curtain as the litter came alongside. ‘You look better,’ she said brightly.
‘A little, I suppose,’ he admitted.
‘You shouldn’t have drunk so much,’ Atia scolded.
‘It’s not every day a man kills a bear,’ Quintus mumbled.
Fabricius turned his head. ‘That’s right.’
Aurelia’s lips thinned, but she didn’t pursue the issue.
‘A day like yesterday comes along only a few times in a lifetime. It is right to celebrate it,’ Fabricius declared. ‘A sore head is a small price to pay afterwards.’
‘True enough,’ Atia admitted from the depths of the litter. ‘You have honoured your Oscan, as well as your Roman, heritage. I’m proud to have you as my son.’
Shortly after midday, they reached Capua’s impressive walls. Surrounded by a deep ditch, the stone fortifications ran around the city’s entire circumference. Watchtowers had been built at regular intervals, and six gates, manned by sentries, controlled the access. Quintus, who had never seen Rome, loved it dearly. Originally built by the Etruscans more than four hundred years before, Capua had been the head of a league of twelve cities. Two centuries previously, however, marauding Oscans had swept in, seizing the area for their people. My mother’s race, thought Quintus proudly. Under Oscan rule, Capua had grown into one of the most powerful cities in Italy, but was eventually forced to seek aid from Rome when successive waves of Samnite invaders threatened its independence.
Quintus’ father was descended from a member of the Roman relief force, which meant that his children were citizens. Campania’s association with the Republic meant that its people were also citizens, but only the nobility were allowed to vote. This distinction was still the cause of resentment among many Campanian plebeians, who had to present themselves for military service alongside the legions, despite their lack of suffrage. The loudest among them claimed that they were remaining true to their Oscan ancestors. There was even some talk of Capua regaining its independence, which Fabricius decried as treason. Quintus felt torn if he thought about their protests, not least because his mother conspicuously remained silent at such times. It seemed hypocritical that local men who might fight and die for Rome were not permitted to have a say in who ran the Republic. It also brought Quintus to the thorny question of whether he was denying his mother’s heritage in favour of his father’s? It was a point that Gaius, Flavius Martialis’ son, loved to tease him about. Although they had Roman citizenship and could vote, Martialis and Gaius were Oscan nobility through and through.
Their first stop was the temple of Mars, which was located in a side street a short distance from the forum. While the family watched, one lamb was offered up for sacrifice. Quintus was relieved when the priest pronounced good omens. The same assertion was made at Diana’s shrine, delighting him further.
‘No surprise there,’ Fabricius murmured as they left.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Quintus.
‘After hearing what happened on the hunt, the priest was hardly going to give us an unfavourable reading.’ Fabricius smiled at Quintus’ shock. ‘Come now! I believe in the gods too, but we didn’t need to be told that they were pleased with us yesterday. It was obvious. What was important today was to pay our respects, and that we have done.’ He clapped his hands. ‘It’s time to clean up at the baths, and then buy you a new toga.’
An hour later, they were all standing in a tailor’s shop. Thanks to its proximity to the fullers’ workshops, the premises reeked of stale urine, increasing Quintus’ desire to get on with the matter in hand. Workers were busy in the background, raising the nap on rolls of cloth with small spiked boards, trimming it with cropping shears to give a soft finish, and folding the finished fabric before pressing it. The proprietor, an obsequious figure with greasy hair, laid out different qualities of wool for them to choose from, but Atia quickly motioned at the best. Soon Quintus had been fitted in his toga virilis. He shifted awkwardly from foot to foot while a delighted Atia fussed and bothered, adjusting the voluminous folds until they met with her approval. Fabricius stood in the background, a proud smile on his lips while Aurelia bobbed up and down excitedly alongside.
‘The young master looks very distinguished,’ gushed the shopkeeper.
Atia gave an approving nod. ‘He does.’
Feeling proud but self-conscious, Quintus gave her a tight smile.
‘A fine sight,’ Fabricius added. Counting out the relevant coinage, he handed it over. ‘Time to visit Flavius Martialis. Gaius will want to see you in all your glory.’
Leaving the proprietor bowing and scraping in their wake, they walked outside. There Agesandros, who had taken their mounts to a stables, was waiting. He bowed deeply to Quintus. ‘You are truly a man now, sir.’
Pleased by the gesture, Quintus grinned. ‘Thank you.’
Fabricius looked at his overseer. ‘Why don’t you go to the market now? You know where Martialis’ house is. Just come along when you’ve bought the new slave.’ He handed over a purse. ‘There’s a hundred didrachms.’
‘Of course,’ Agesandros replied. He turned to go.
‘Wait,’ Quintus cried on impulse. ‘I’ll tag along. I need to start learning about things like this.’
Agesandros’ dark eyes regarded him steadily. ‘“Things like this”?’ he repeated.
‘Buying slaves, I mean.’ Quintus had never really given much thought to the process before, which, for obvious reasons, still impacted on Agesandros. ‘You can teach me.’
The Sicilian glanced at Fabricius, who gave an approving nod.
‘Why not?’ Atia declared. ‘It would be good experience for you.’
Agesandros’ lips curved upwards. ‘Very well.’
Aurelia rushed to Quintus’ side. ‘I’m coming too,’ she declared.
Agesandros arched an eyebrow. ‘I’m not sure…’ he began.
‘It’s out of the question,’ said Fabricius.
‘There are things in the slave market which are not fitting for a girl to see,’ Atia added.
‘I’m almost a woman, as you keep telling me,’ Aurelia retorted. ‘When I’ve been married off, and I’m mistress of my own house, I will be able to visit such places whenever I choose. Why not now?’
‘Aurelia!’ Atia snapped.
‘You do what I say!’ interrupted Fabricius. ‘I am your father. Remember that. Your husband, whoever he may be, will also expect you to be obedient.’
Aurelia dropped her eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I just wanted to accompany Quintus as he walked through the town, looking so fine in his new toga.’
Disarmed, Fabricius cleared his throat. ‘Come now,’ he said. He glanced at Atia, who frowned.
‘Please?’ Aurelia pleaded.
There was a long pause, before Atia gave an almost imperceptible nod.
Fabricius smiled. ‘Very well. You may go with your brother.’
‘Thank you, Father. Thank you, Mother.’ Aurelia avoided Atia’s hard stare, which promised all kinds of dressing-down later.
‘Go on, then.’ Fabricius made a benevolent gesture of dismissal.
As Agesandros silently led them down the busy street, Quintus gave Aurelia a reproving look. ‘It’s not only my exercises that you’ve been spying on, eh? You’re quite the conspirator.’
