‘To spoil him you mean!’ snapped Lucius, looking up with a return of his previous sour expression. ‘To make him soft like a milksop.’
‘Come, Lucius. Mothers can teach boys a great deal. If you do not believe me, ask my sons.’
Lucius permitted himself a half smile. ‘Perhaps so, Aulus. Perhaps I shall wed again, like you, but this time I shall require more comfort than this boy’s mother ever gave me.’
Lucius had always had within him a callous streak — it was not out of place in the world they inhabited — but to speak so ill of a loyal wife, who had just performed her duty by producing this infant, when she was barely cold, was deeply shocking.
‘Take care, Lucius, to avoid blasphemy.’
Lucius actually grinned, for he was always ribbing Aulus about his piety. ‘You worry about blasphemy, while I worry about Rome.’
‘How do you intend to arrange the ceremonies?’ Aulus asked, bemused and slightly at a loss as to how to react.
The response was vague, as though the thought of his twin responsibilities had never crossed Lucius’s mind, and there was an element of confusion on the plural nature of the word he used. ‘Ceremonies?’
‘Custom demands that you bury your wife on the ninth day. That is also the day you’re supposed to celebrate the birth of your son and name him.’
‘I shall do both, Aulus, never fear.’
‘On the same day?’
‘Of course,’ Lucius insisted. ‘But all Rome shall know at what ceremony I have set my heart.’
The wet nurse was called forward to lift the child from his cot. This she did, and prepared to offer the infant her breast to feed.
‘Stop!’ cried Lucius. ‘Let him wait until the appointed time. It does no harm for a Roman soldier to go hungry.’
‘Hardly a soldier yet, Lucius?’
That remark was greeted with a look that contained a gleam of fanaticism. ‘Let us start as we mean to go on, Aulus. This boy, whom I intend to name Marcellus, is a Roman. He will be taught to behave like one from the very moment of birth. He will know, as soon as he can understand the nickname Orestes, that his birth itself on such a feast-day was so potent that his mother had to be sacrificed to achieve it. That will be the benchmark for his future aims in life.’
‘Then he’s in for a hard upbringing, Lucius.’
No hint of the inherent cruelty in his words seemed to dent Lucius’s certainty. ‘He is that, Aulus.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
They made their way back to the study with Lucius still prattling on about the brilliant future he envisaged for his son until Aulus felt the subject exhausted and changed it. He had three objectives to complete on his visit; time to move on to the most troublesome one.
‘I am surprised to find you conducting business on such a day.’
As if to underline the truth of this remark, Lucius went straight back to his desk, and his paperwork. Aulus found himself staring at that bald head again as his host bent to his labours.
‘Had to, my friend. After the events of the last two days, I couldn’t have the mob implying that I was hiding away.’
‘Even you are allowed time to grieve,’ Aulus replied, as he eased himself into a chair.
Lucius looked up, his eyes steady. ‘Am I? No, let those who loved Tiberius Livonius grieve.’
There was a second’s pause before Aulus responded, for he had not even mentioned the murders, in fact he had been referring to Ameliana. ‘You are aware of the talk?’
Lucius waved his quill, dismissively. ‘That it was I who had him killed?’
‘Yes,’ Aulus replied, his voice tense.
Lucius emitted a rather mannered sigh and carried on writing. ‘On the very day that my wife died, I’m supposed to find the time to murder a man whom I hold in utter contempt. His adherents flatter him. No one, Aulus, is that important.’
That shook Aulus, making him think in a manner he wanted to avoid. Lucius had shown no sign of grief at all. No weeping and covering of the head for him, just business as usual today. Was it also business as usual when those assassins had struck down the plebeian tribune: had committed a crime that in its repercussions could set the whole city ablaze? Aulus flattered himself that he knew Lucius better than anyone alive, even his own late wife, yet he was left wondering at this moment whether he truly knew him at all.
‘You will not be surprised to hear that some of the gabblers in that same market-place are saying I ordered Ragas to kill Livonius then sent him away. Utter nonsense, of course. What hurts me most is that some people think I am as stupid as they are.’
‘The accusation still stands, Lucius.’
That made his host look up. ‘Surely you of all people give it no credence?’
‘I never listen to gossip Lucius and I try not to respond to rumour. But should the accusation be placed in public, someone will have to refute it.’
‘I can refute it,’ Lucius snapped.
Aulus could see he was annoyed by the way his quill now flew across the papyrus and he nearly stopped then, the prospect of letting matters rest an enticing one, and not only for Lucius. There was a selfish motive as well. He was seen by all as a close friend and ally to this man; if the rumour was not laid to rest he could be tainted by association. He had not fought his wars and gained his triumph to have it sullied by such a possibility.
‘Is that wise, Lucius? All of Roman law is based on having another plead your case.’
The head snapped up and those dark brown eyes were cold now. ‘I don’t need an advocate!’
‘I say you do.’ Seeing the tightening of the jaw on his friend’s face he carried swiftly on. ‘I say we all do at times. I will not have you shorn of your dignity to refute such base and false allegations. You referred yourself to enemies trying to drive a wedge between us. Someone is bound to bring the matter up in the Senate, either directly or by allusion. I can’t see how it could be otherwise when a person as important as Tiberius Livonius has been murdered. I am, in fact, offering myself for the role of advocate on your behalf.’
Lucius gave him a wolfish smile. ‘You think your eloquence outshines mine?’
‘Not in a millennium,’ Aulus replied sincerely; he had never been able to match Lucius in that department. ‘But I hold to my point that it is better to have someone else plead your case, rather than do so yourself.’
The quill was pointing at Aulus now. ‘Even if there’s no case to answer?’
‘You’re playing with words, Lucius. Either admit I’m right, or demand I desist.’
Lucius dropped the quill and sat back in his chair, his fingers forming a point below his lips. ‘Perhaps you are correct. Some fool may make the accusation in the Forum.’
Aulus tried to drive home his point, unsure, as he heard his own voice, if he had got the tone right. ‘I have heard it said that a man feels unclean, even when he has to defend himself from the basest and most unfounded charge.’
Lucius replied in the same pensive mode. ‘I doubt I should feel that way, Aulus. Still, you may have the right of it.’
Aulus sat forward, eagerly. ‘Then it is settled. If someone is foolish enough to suggest that you had a hand in the death of Tiberius Livonius, I shall speak on your behalf.’
Lucius smiled behind the pointed fingers. ‘Am I allowed to advise you as to how you should go about it?’
Aulus returned the smile, though he could feel the tightness in his jaw. ‘Of course. Just as you are obliged, for the sake of my honour, to swear to me personally that I shall be speaking the truth.’
Lucius sat absolutely still, yet there was a palpable tenseness as he spoke. ‘Why do I feel you’ve set out to trap me?’
‘Trap you!’ Aulus threw back his head and laughed, really to avoid looking into those searching eyes, for deep down he knew that was precisely what he had done. He put on his best bluff manner, playing the old soldier,
