fresh horses. This so that a governor as far away as Spain could write to the Senate and receive a reply within ten days. The soldiers fought to gain territory, but it was the system of consular messengers that kept it secure.
As they turned into the Barbinus villa, Marcellus closed the curtain tight, for his father would not be happy to see that a Falerii had allowed his dignity to be overcome by his curiosity. Staying on the right side of the parental temperament was important to Marcellus, given he was rarely allowed to accompany his father on the few occasions when he left Rome. Just being away from his teacher was a bonus; not being at school at all doubled that enjoyment. The protocol was strict, with a slave given the task of informing both master and son that it would be proper for them to alight; that the owner, his wife and family, as well as his senior servants, were arrayed in a manner befitting the rituals necessary to greet such an elevated person as Lucius Falerius.
Barbinus himself came forward as the curtain was drawn back on Lucius’s litter, his arms outstretched, the face wreathed in a broad smile. Marcellus examined him; fat, with a waddle of a walk and a gross head with features to match. The nose was big and so were the thick lips; only the eyes, deep in the puffy cheeks, seemed too small for their host.
‘My good friend, I bid you welcome,’ Barbinus cried, clasping the arm of the now upright Lucius. ‘That you should come to me instead of summoning me to attend on you in Rome does me great honour.’
The words his father had used before leaving came to Marcellus. ‘Barbinus is not the kind of person I wish to be seen with in the streets of Rome, nor do I want him knocking at my door. He must be one of the greediest men I know, with the morals of a snake. His family are poor stock, more Volscian than Roman, yet he is a senator, rich, without any power of his own and in need of a sponsor. He also knows that I have the power, and enough information on his peculations, to remove him from the Senate roll.’
‘So you will attach him to you?’
‘That I will decide, Marcellus, when we have concluded our business.’
The business was the sale of the last far-flung property that Lucius owned, farms in Sicily that had been a drain on his time and money, rather than an asset. They had been hard to sell, but Barbinus, who owned other Sicilian properties, had looked them over on his last visit then indicated that he would give Lucius a fair price. Lucius was not fooled; he suspected that Barbinus was buying a way into his favour, not farms from which he could make a profit.
‘You must be fatigued after your journey. The bath house is ready for you.’
Marcellus looked around for a bath house but could see nothing resembling the public baths in Rome. Barbinus, he realised, must have one of his own, which was real luxury, even in a country villa.
‘My son will need it, certainly,’ Lucius replied, ‘since his long nose, poking out endlessly from his litter, has covered him in the dust of the roadway. I prefer to get straight down to business, Barbinus. Let any bathing take place after that.’
‘As you wish, Lucius Falerius.’ Barbinus tried to click his fingers, but they were too fleshy to make much sound. It mattered little; his steward stepped forward immediately. ‘Nicos, take young master Marcellus to the bath house.’
Everyone else — lictors, scribes and escort — was sent to an empty barn, while Lucius was shepherded into the atrium of the villa, a substantial space with a smaller fountain playing in the middle. Marcellus, walking behind, heard his host snap at his steward, ordering him to get a rider on the road to find out what had happened to something, but he was unable to quite catch what it was as he was led down a corridor to his destination. With a plentiful supply of water from the mountain streams, and plentiful wood, Barbinus had made full use of what nature provided, so both room and pool were steaming hot. Feeling grubby after his journey he was happy to strip and plunge into the latter. When he emerged there was a masseur waiting to knead whatever strains he had suffered from his muscles and a very pretty girl with long brown hair to pour small drops of warm, scented oil onto his sweating flesh, which she then scraped to clean the pores. Such indulgence would never have been allowed in the Falerii household; Lucius, though often to be found at the public baths, frowned on such display, ever ready to accuse those who delighted in such luxury as vulgar and un-Roman.
At that time, Lucius was being very Roman indeed, trying to gauge just how much Barbinus was prepared to pay to get into his good offices. Like most rich men, the host hankered after more wealth and he had in his house a man who could not only secure his standing but provide him with more opportunities for profit than anyone else in the Senate. But Barbinus also craved respectability; he had reached his senatorial status because of his money, but had never served in any of the offices that fell to men of that rank and that left him vulnerable. Too old to begin the cursus honarium he still craved the eminence that went with such service to the Republic. Lucius Falerius was in a position to satisfy those desires.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The wagon, a barred travelling cage, that arrived an hour after these important visitors had Aquila on his feet, moving out of the shade of a tree and down the slope for a closer look. He was not alone, nearly every youngster in the village had followed it to the gate of the Barbinus property, jumping up and down and pointing at the two big cats. They paced back and forth in a restless manner, eyes ranging hungrily over the excited crowd. The sheep he had with him must have picked up a scent, because they were running up the hill, to huddle against the fencing that bordered the nearest wood. There were wildcats and lynx out in the woods he hunted in, but he had never seen anything like these. Their coats were yellow, the spots black and numerous and the bodies of both creatures sleek and lithe. Not as big as Minca they looked just as dangerous, baring teeth that were twice the size. Luckily the sutler brought his wagon past the front entrance to the villa and manoeuvred it close to the rear boundary of the property, thus affording Aquila a good close look.
‘Leopards,’ the sutler replied when asked, ‘from Africa.’
‘Fierce?’ asked Aquila, coming right up to the fence for a closer look.
‘Can be, lad,’ the man replied, as he unhitched his oxen. ‘But these pair have been tamed for household pets.’
‘Who tamed them?’
‘I did.’ The oxen were led to the stone water trough as Aquila examined the cats more closely, able now to see quite clearly the collars they wore. He resumed his interrogation as soon as the sutler returned. ‘Easy, really. They have to be taken young, which usually means killing the mother, then they are reared by human hand so that they get used to us. Keep ’em fed on milk and such like and they forget they’re hunters. Doesn’t last mind. I always tell my clients to keep them for three of four years then sell them on to a stadium owner for a fight. They get fractious as they get older and are just as like to take a nip out of a human if the mood changes.’
‘Why not breed them?’
Both Aquila and the sutler turned at the sound of the new voice. What they saw was a dark-haired, swarthy youth in a fine wool cloak, open to reveal a snow-white smock held at the waist by a rope of knotted leather, capped at each end by gold stops. Aquila could see that his sandals were as soft and well made as the voice, that his damp hair had been cut and combed so that the curls neatly fringed his forehead.
‘Ain’t worth it, young sir,’ the sutler replied. ‘You has to feed ’em while they breed and lay a litter and that takes meat which is dear to buy. Best to bring the creatures in from Africa. There’s plenty there as well as locals only too happy to hunt them down for a copper ass or two.’
Aquila had backed away, turning to go back to his sheep. It was not fear that made him withdraw, more the natural embarrassment of a poor youth in too close proximity to one who was clearly the opposite. To the sutler he was ‘lad’; the other boy was ‘young sir’. It was impossible not to look on such a person and not feel inadequate, with his own messy hair, greasy leather cap and homespun clothes. He had no experience of rich people, only ever having once or twice seen Barbinus at a distance as he came to or left the ranch, but he knew he did not like them; they ordered folk about, and that was something Aquila did not fancy. But he did turn to watch him from a distance, noticing the way the sutler’s shoulders dipped to acknowledge the rank of the boy with whom he was conversing.
For reasons he could not quite fathom he tried to imagine what it would be like to fight him; they were of a size, just as well developed even if the stranger’s skin did shine. Aquila decided he liked the idea, and reckoned he could take him, even as he put the notion aside, knowing that even to raise his fist could see him flogged. That
